


punchline

by UtterPandamonium



Series: fallen down [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universes, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinda, Pacifist!Chara, Pacifist!Flowey, Soft Chara, Suicide, Timelines, Undertale Saves and Resets, Unreliable Narrator, chara and flowey: off to save the day, low-key character study, save my small angry children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 42,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtterPandamonium/pseuds/UtterPandamonium
Summary: (It’s a killer one, too.)The first time he meets them, their name is Chara, and they’re the sweetest thing down here since the prince died and the Underground turned into a lunatic’s scale-model of hell. The second time, though… heh. Let’s just say he likes that kid a lot better.After all, down here in the Underground, the only rule is “kill or be killed,” not “act like a freaking sap and charm your way into everyone’s hearts.” And if he has, ah, to lay down the law as it were? Maybe do a littlejudginghere and there?Heh. Well, then.s o b e i t.an underfell au in which chara and flowey band together to save the world, sans tries to stop them, frisk is confused, and no one is happy





	1. a real chara-cter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dead siblings leave the Ruins.  
> Is this the set-up to a bad joke?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this while I was depressed as hell. Can ya tell? :D  
> Don't worry, I'm fine-ish now. I wanted to go ahead and post this, though. A bit late, I know--it's been rotting away for a while now--but better late than never, am I right?  
> Also, again, if you're worried something in this might trigger a problem, you might just want to skip this over. Stay safe, my dudes.

“ **t u r n a r o u n d a n d s h a k e m y h a n d.** ”

Bzzzzt.

Instantly, they yelp and desperately start trying to pull their hand away. Grinning, Sans tightens his grip for a moment, taking a moment to enjoy the look of discomfort on their face before reluctantly letting the human yank their hand away and rub it as a pained expression contorts their features. He doesn’t want to kill this kid just yet, after all: if he plays his cards right, this could give him just the opportunity that he’s been waiting for. “Hey!” a familiar voice demands harshly. “What do you think you’re **doing** , Smiley Trashbag?”

Oh, great. Stiffening, he spots the weed after a moment of searching: it’s curled around the human’s arm and glaring up at him with dark, defensive, beady little eyes, looking more like a snake than anything else. Ugh, he **hates** that thing. “oh, looks like i’m gonna need to pick up some weed killer today,” he grates out, grin going dangerously sharp, but manages to keep his eyes from going dark just yet. He doesn’t want to scare the human too much all at once, so, instead, he forces a slightly less menacing smile as he looks at them (and pointedly ignores the flower). “hey, human.” Sans takes in their expression. “heh, you sure look **shocked** about my little prank just then.” C’mon, they shouldn’t be **that** dazed: he didn’t even have it set to lethal levels… much. If he’d held on for too long, they might not have done too well, but he **hadn’t** , right? “it’s just a joy buzzer, sugar. what, do they not have those on the surface?”

They blink, staring up at him with wide, slightly dazed eyes. Instantly, he’s struck by just how **red** their eyes are. It’s pretty intense, and this is coming from **him** , the guy whose working eye literally **glows red**. “Um, they do,” they murmur uncertainly, still looking stunned as they continue to flail their hand around. “But, uh, I believe that they don’t **actually** electrocute you.”

Dumbfounded, Sans stares at them. It doesn’t look like they’re kidding. “wait, really?” he questions disbelievingly, glancing skeptically at the still-sparking joy buzzer in his hand. A blink. “huh. whaddya know.” That’s kinda weird. All the ones **he’s** ever seen do. Shrugging, he looks back at them and tries to give them a friendly grin. “anyways. i’m sans the skeleton. heh, y’know…” Letting his eyes go dark, he leans towards the two of them, jagged smirk widening to eerie proportions. “i’m **actually** supposed to be **killing** you right now, human.”

Immediately, they freeze up. Their crimson eyes go wide: they make a small noise in the back of their throat as they start to glance frantically around. Heh, seems like they’re looking for an opening, searching for a way to run around him without getting nabbed.

He relishes their fearful expression for a long moment. Unfortunately, Sans can’t stand around with the kid forever, so, sighing, he steps back, softening his smile and allowing his remaining pupil, cracked and worn as it is, to spark back to life. “heh-heh-heh, the look on your face,” the skeleton chuckles, shaking his head amusedly. “can’t believe ya fell for that. i mean, yeah, i’m **technically** s’pposed to be trying to getcha, but my boss would murder me if i did. **literally.** ” Grinning, Sans watches as the kid instantly relaxes, shoulders slumping. Softly, they sigh in relief. Wow, did they really just let their guard down **that** easily? Are **all** humans that naïve? Jeez. Life must be a lot nicer up on the surface, huh? Welp, it’s not like **that’s** really a huge surprise. Still, needless to say, he’s more than happy to pop their bubble. “see, he doesn’t want me stealing his glory. **he** wants to kill you **himself** , cupcake.” Instantly, their face comically falls: the skeleton can’t help but laugh. “heh-heh, yeah. papyrus is kinda a….” Thoughtfully, he trails off, mockingly tapping his chin. “what’s the word i’m looking for?”

“A crazy, power-hungry psychopath obsessed with hunting humans?” Flowey offers up sarcastically.

Snapping his fingers, Sans points at the flower, nodding approvingly. “yeah, that’s it. thanks for the help, **petals**.” His working eyesocket flickers for a second. “y’know, i think he’ll be glad to know you’re back in town.” A smirk. “maybe, as a little favor to the both of you, i could schedule a reunion?”

The weed snarls. “Don’t even think about it, **trashbag** ,” it hisses angrily, turning to the human. “Hey, why are we even wasting time talking to **him** , anyway? Let’s just go already. We need to get moving so we can get out of here as fast as we can.”

Casually, he snorts. “how are ya planning on doing that?” he asks bluntly, crossing his arms. “i mean, i dunno if you noticed, but…” He nods pointedly at the imposing-looking, dark gate barring the human’s path, complete with wickedly sharp spikes. “it’s, uh, **blocked off**. get too close to that thing, and it’ll rip ya to shreds. ‘sides, even if you could get close enough, my boss didn’t make the bars wide enough for you to squeeze through.” For a second, his left eyesocket flickers dark of its own accord: frowning, the skeleton knocks on the side of his skull until it decides to light back up, then continues talking as if nothing had interrupted him. “lucky for you, doll, i know a shortcut that can help you get around it.”

“And why should we trust you?” Flowey accuses suspiciously, hackles still clearly up over the Papyrus thing. Heh. Y’know, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t really blame it for that. Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna keep baiting the weed about it, of course, but still. “I bet that, if we go with you, you’re just going to lead us right into a trap and hand us over to him!”

A chuckle. “heh-heh-heh.” Smile widening, Sans closes his eyes, sticking his hands in his pockets. “human, weed: both of ya listen up. here’s something important you missed out on during our little _tête-à-tête_.” Reopening his eyesockets, he smirks down at them, feeling his phalanges spark with fiery red magic as his eyes go black. (Smells like ozone.) “ **if you** don’t **trust me, you’ll freeze to death out here in the snow.** ”

Instantly, they both cringe away from him, looking terrified. The human accidentally drops the stick they were carrying then fumbles to pick it back up.

Smug, Sans shuts his eyesockets again and chuckles a little. “wow. uh. i gotta admit, you two have the best reactions i’ve seen in a while.” By the time he reopens his eyes, his one pupil is back. Man, with this kid, he’s **really** getting a lot of mileage out of the fact that his left eye is faulty and the other one doesn’t work at all, huh? Heh-heh. “welp. you guys coming or not?” A smirk: the skeleton glances at the human. “i mean, i’m more than willing to leave the weed to get nice an’ icy. heh, giving it the **cold** shoulder might help it learn to **chill** out, y’know, teach it how to play it **cool** and all while getting rid of its **frosty** attitude. still, you seem okay to me, human.” Helplessly, he shrugs and winks. “guess it’s your choice, though.”

In all honesty, though, he won’t— **can’t** —let the human die. Not because of any sentimental reasons, of course: Sans just refuses to let King Fluffybuns get his grimy little claws on a seventh human soul. If that happens, then the barrier will be broken, and… Welp. Let’s just say it **isn’t** going to happen and leave it at that, yeah?  If the human decides to get stubborn, he’ll let them stay stuck in the forest for a few days—y’know, so they’ll have ample time to regret their decision—and then come back to check up on ‘em and offer again. They won’t freeze to death in two or three days, right?

Ehhh, he’s not **totally** sure about that: he doesn’t have skin, after all, so he doesn’t exactly have to worry about the cold.  Eventually, after a long, thoughtful pause, the human speaks up. “Okay, comedian,” they murmur, nodding reluctantly. Comedian? Huh. Well, whatever. He’s been called much worse. Honestly, that’s pretty much a compliment: just means that his jokes are working, right? “I’ll go with you.”

Immediately, the weed reacts vehemently, whispering something angry at the human. Sans doubts that Flowey’s exactly singing his praises right now, but he doesn’t really care what it has to say about him. At this point, he’s heard it all, and probably said it, too. So, instead of reacting to the flower, he just smirks, turning in the opposite direction of the gate. “c’mon, then,” the skeleton prompts.

“This is the **wrong** **way** ,” Flowey gripes irritably, frowning as the human obediently follows him. “Seriously, kid? I swear you’re going to get us ki—”

Abruptly, the weed goes silent. The human, on the other hand, gasps in surprise. “fast shortcut, right?” Sans states smugly. Quickly, they swivel around, staring at the gate—which is now behind them—then at the new area which he’s brought them to.

The kid looks totally flabbergasted. The flower, of course, seems less so by far. Welp, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s, uh, needed to **demonstrate** some of his abilities to the weed. Nice to know he’d made an impression on Petals, he guesses. Eventually, the human speaks up. “How did we—”

A thud rocks the ground. Instantly, Sans feels the magic drain from his face, leaving him cold and paler (somehow) and a bit shaky. “uh, yeah, that’s probably papyrus,” the skeleton mutters to himself, internally steeling himself for the inevitable conflict (that he most definitely doesn’t have the energy for). Abruptly remembering his company, he absently glances at the kid. “if i were you, i’d find a place to hide.” In response, they run over to his sentry station and try to crouch behind a stray burgundy-and-gray lamp. “wow. that’s, uh, really inconveniently-shaped.” It’s so small that it doesn’t hide them in the slightest. “you might consider trying something else.”

After a long, indecisive moment, they duck behind his sentry station, just as Papyrus comes loping in. As soon as Sans sees the look on his face, his smile droops slightly: the taller skeleton doesn’t exactly look happy with him. “HOW DARE YOU SLACK OFF LIKE THIS SO BLATANTLY, YOU LAZY **BUFFOON**?” his boss demands wrathfully, glowering dangerously at him. “NOT ONLY HAS IT BEEN **TWO WHOLE DAYS** SINCE YOU HAVE RECALIBRATED YOUR PUZZLES, BUT NOW YOU’RE JUST STANDING AROUND OUTSIDE YOUR STATION DOING NOTHING LIKE SOME SORT OF EMPTYHEADED **FOOL**!”

“uh, i was just wondering why this lamp’s here,” he quickly ad-libs, turning to stare at the lamp that the kid had tried to hide behind a minute ago. “i mean, c’mon. it’s not like it’s plugged in or anything, and we got plenty of light down here.” Forcing a lighthearted tone into his voice, the skeleton winks. “pretty inconveniently **placed** , if you ask me.” **Everything** about this lamp is inconvenient today, actually. He’s probably gonna trash it again out of spite once his boss leaves.

Face contorted with disbelief, Papyrus gapes at him for a long moment. Finally, voice a deadly whisper, he speaks. “SANS,” he hisses lowly, something mocking entering his cruel voice. “I DON’T EXPECT YOU TO REMEMBER THIS, SEEING AS YOU **APPARENTLY** HAVE THE MENTAL CAPACITY OF A GOLDFISH, BUT YOU’RE MEANT TO BE ON WATCH FOR HUMANS! **NOT** WORRYING ABOUT LAMPS!” The skeleton steps forward, a visible threat in his pitch-black gaze. “BELIEVE ME. IF A HUMAN GETS PAST YOU, AND **UNDYNE** …” Furious, he chokes on the name, vitriolic hatred audible in his voice. “ **UNDYNE** KILLS THEM AND COLLECTS THEIR SOUL BECAUSE OF YOUR **INCOMPETENCE**?” A sneer. “ **YOU WILL REGRET IT.** DO YOU **UNDERSTAND** ME?”

Sans suppresses the inappropriate urge to scoff (because he knows from experience that Papyrus isn’t joking or exaggerating). Yeah, he’s probably pretty screwed—or, heh, **bone** d—when his boss sees the human. “gotcha, **bro** ,” he drawls, sarcasm oozing from his words. He considers correcting Papyrus by telling that he’s gotten a skele **ton** of work done today but eventually decides against it.

Despite the lack of puns, the skeleton manages to get even angrier at this. “I TOLD YOU **NEVER** TO CALL ME THAT AGAIN, BROTHER,” he hisses venomously. With a flash of blue magic, the aforementioned inconveniently-shaped lamp is hovering in midair, glowing ominously.

Of course, Sans dodges it before it manages to hit him. Splintered scarlet glass goes flying everywhere, looking like blood on the snow, or maybe like shards of a human soul (not that a red one’s been captured yet, of course, but he’s guessing that his comparison is **probably** pretty accurate). Unfortunately, none of the broken glass manages to hit Papyrus: what a disappointment. “yeah, got it, boss,” he says instead, tilting his head and internally fighting back another pun about how his brother was gonna work him down to the bone.

Normally, of course, he doesn’t get the urge to crack anywhere **near** this many jokes around Papyrus, seeing how much his boss hates them. Today, however, he’s acutely aware of his **other** audience that’s crouching behind his sentry station, so he’s doing his best to make himself look like some harmless, funny, easy-going, overworked, fairly trustworthy guy—and to make his **brother** come off as violent and angry and arrogant and unlikeable and threatening. Lucky for him, that’s not that hard of a job, which is convenient, seeing how much he loves doing absolutely nothing. “TAKE THIS MORE SERIOUSLY, SANS, OR YOU **WILL** PAY,” Papyrus warns menacingly, glaring him down. His voice drops to an ominous whisper. “YOU **ARE** AWARE THAT I CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH TO PROTECT YOU.”

Okay, **seriously**? That’s his breaking point: at that, he **has** to chuckle, arms folding over his stomach. “really? **protecting** me?” he questions breathlessly between giggles, body folding over on itself as he finally bursts out into a fit of helpless laughter. “heh-heh-heh, hah **ahahah** , heh, heh…” Suddenly, he’s deadly serious, spine ramrod-straight and eyesockets dark as tar as he glowers at his brother. “i gotta admit, **boss** , that’s the best **joke** i’ve ever heard.” He bets that it’ll have a **killer** punchline.

Sans sidesteps the next attack (this time, a bone), too, grin remaining jagged and ever-wide. For a long moment, Papyrus just watches him, eyesockets flickering. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK YOU’RE LAUGHING ABOUT,” his boss claims simply, no emotion in his voice (but he can tell that, behind the eyes, his bro is definitely feeling **rattled** , heh). “MY STATEMENT STILL STANDS. NOW, I MUST ATTEND TO THE TRAPS. YOU’D **BETTER** NOT STILL BE LAZING AROUND WHEN I COME BACK!”

The skeleton waits for a long moment, watching Papyrus sprint off into the distance. After enough time has passed, he gauges that the coast is clear. “okay, c’mon out, short stuff,” he calls out. A long pause: eventually, hesitantly, the human rises to their feet, thoroughly scanning the area. “hey, you look pretty **rattled**.” (Heh, he’s glad he ended up getting to use that joke aloud after all.) “guess he probably spooked ya, huh? well, you oughta get going.” A wink. “no sign of him now, but he might come back and see you. and if he does…” Sans pulls a face. “welp, i’m guessing it won’t be a pretty sight.”

For a second, the human hesitates. Finally, they speak. “You and he are… **brothers**?” they ask slowly, sounding uncertain.

With a hollow grin, Sans shrugs. “i know, i know. i got all of the beauty and the brains, and he got the height,” he quips, smirking. “well…” Smile quirking, he knocks on the side of his head (and hisses softly, because **ow** : he thinks he just accidentally hit one of the many open cracks littering his skull, and he’s probably going to find himself regretting that later). “metaphorically speaking on that second thing. but yeah, we are brothers. or used to be, anyhow.” He hasn’t exactly considered Papyrus to be his brother ever since the world went to hell in a handbasket, of course, but he guesses that the kid’s referring to the technical definition.

“Oh,” they mutter, quiet as always. “It’s just, you, uh—” Abruptly, the kid recoils back, looking at Sans like they fully expect him to take a swing at ‘em, but continue anyway. “Comedian, I once had a… a **brother** , too. And he wasn’t that mean to me. Actually, Asr—” They flinch. “Um, my brother was the nicest person I ever knew.” Looking distraught, the human swallows audibly. "I’m sorry that your brother’s so mean to you.”

Believe it or not, the kid’s thought process is actually going the **exact** way he’d hoped it would. “ **was** , huh?” Sans notes. Sensing the opportunity to make even more progress with them, he smirks. “so this, uh, this **brother** of yours kicked the bucket, i take it.” Nervously, the human nods, face scrunching slightly at his word choice. “yeah, can’t say i’m surprised. see, i dunno how things go on the surface, but, heh…” His grin turns downwards slightly, becoming more of a grimace than anything. “down here, there’s this, uh, **motto** we got. ‘ **kill or be killed**.’ real cheery, huh?” A snort. “anyways, it sounds to me like your bro was **too** nice, so he ended up on the ‘ **be** killed’ side of the equation.” Feigning concern, he glances them over, trying his best to turn his perpetual grin into a worried frown. “can’t say i like the idea of you turning out the same way, shortcake. watch out for yourself, okay?”

The human’s lips turn downwards: slowly, they nod, seemingly considering what he’s said. “Okay,” they whisper softly. Good. Looks like he’s successfully planted the idea in their head, all while convincing them that he’s concerned about what  would happen to ‘em along the way: heh, like he’s cared about **anyone** in **years**. **That’s** a joke if he’s ever heard one. “Oh, and, um…”

Curious, he crosses his arms, eyeing them skeptically. “yeah?”

Hesitating, they bite down on their lower lip, then, wincing, finally speak up. “What’s a motto?”

Instantly, Sans bursts out laughing. “heh-heh-heh…” Feeling an emotion that some might consider giddy glee, he shakes his head, chuckling to himself. This is gonna be great: he’s always wanted an excuse to make this joke. “nothing, what’s the **motto** with you?” They furrow their brow in confusion then, suddenly getting the joke, giggle softly, though they still look confused by the word. Unfortunately for them, he isn’t planning on defining it: he ain’t exactly the human’s kindergarten teacher, after all. “now go on. get outta here.”

Cheerfully waving goodbye, they skip away, a spring in their step. Heh, that human sure is something, daring to act so blatantly happy and carefree in the middle of this hellhole: he hasn’t seen anything like ‘em for quite some time. Grinning emptily, Sans watches them go, internally resolving to follow them and keep an eye on what they’re doing.

After all, if, by some miracle, it turns out really did get the hint? If they really **do** decide to kill his brother, and they **succeed**? He’s **definitely** gonna want to be there to see it happen.

__

Honestly, he’s kinda impressed. Although they had to get through a bunch of deadly puzzles and traps to do it, the kid’s managed to get all the way to Snowdin Town without encountering Papyrus once. In fact, his boss doesn’t even seem to know that a human has fallen down yet. Course, some of that was Sans’s doing: at times, he’s had to intervene to keep Boss distracted enough so that the kid could sneak past him. Grin souring slightly, the skeleton rolls up his sleeve and ruefully rubs his arm, wincing as his phalanges trace the newest crack on his ulna. His brother, uh, hadn’t exactly been all that **pleased** with the reasons he’d managed to come up with for leaving his station and for keeping him busy, but hey. It’d worked, hadn’t it? And, with any luck, he won’t face any **other** consequences for it later, because Papyrus won’t be around to serve them out!

Course, judging by what he’d seen of the kid’s battles, he feels kinda worried about whether **that’s** actually gonna be a thing or not. So far as he can tell, they haven’t killed a single monster yet, which is… both confusing as hell and something of a disappointment, to say the least. Instead, strangely enough, they’ve managed to talk their attackers down: made **friends** with ‘em, even, not that friends really exist down here anymore. Then again, he already knows there’s no way that they’re gonna be able to use that sorta strategy on his brother—heh, like he didn’t learn **that** one from experience—so they’ll definitely have to fight him. Kill him, even. Sans just hopes that they figure that out before they get **themselves** killed. Then again, their weed buddy seems to have something of a knack for, uh… **evading death** , one might say. It might be able to give the human a hand (or would that be a leaf, or maybe a vine?) if, say, something less than fortunate were indeed to end up happening to them.

Smoothly, the skeleton ducks back into the shadows of an alleyway when he sees the door to the hotel swing open. Sure enough, the human promptly falls—no, is **kicked** —out into the snow, grunting in pain as they hit the ground. Judging by their, heh, **abrupt** departure, he guesses that they probably got into a **disagreement** with the innkeeper over her policy on fees. Charging by the minute (even for just standing in the lobby) **is** something of a shady business practice when hotels are involved and the rates are way too high to be justifiable, though, so he can’t exactly blame them for that. “Ugh,” the human mutters, sitting up and wiping the grimy, sludgy snow off of their face. “Let’s never go back in there.”

“Hee-hee, yeah,” Flowey agrees distantly, sounding kind of distracted. Huh. Is something bothering the weed? Oh, wait a second: Sans doesn’t care. “Hey, uh, kid? I—I was, um, kind of wondering about something that happened before.”

They blink, turning the arm that he’s wrapped around so that they can look him in the eyes. “Yes, Flowey?” the human whispers. Their voice doesn’t sound too good. Absentmindedly, the skeleton wonders whether they’re coming down with some type of human disease, or whether they’ve been poisoned, or **what**. Who knows? Maybe they’d made the mistake of buying something from that one sick freak who likes to hang around in the forest with a rundown cart and try to sell people “nice cream.” Eh, as long as it doesn’t kill them until **after** they fight his brother, he guesses it doesn’t really matter in the long run to anyone but them, and maybe to that flower pal of theirs.

Awkwardly, the weed glances away. “Uh, when you were fighting… **her** , you said—” It clears its nonexistent throat. “You kinda said that your name… Well, I’m guessing that you remember what you said. And. Um.” A cough. “W—were you lying?”

Looking mildly confused, the kid blinks down at the flower. “No, I was not,” they say simply, voice quiet and calm. “My name really is Chara.” Huh, so that’s their name. It’s nice, he guesses. Sounds kinda familiar, to be honest, but Sans can’t quite place it. Then again, why would he know the name of some random punk from the surface who’d had the bad luck to trip (or, more likely, get pushed) into a hole and fall down here? “I just wish she had believed me when I told her. We, um… we knew each other a long time ago. It’s a long story.” A blink. “Why do you ask? Is something… wrong?”

“Uh, n—no!” Clearly uneasy, Petals laughs loudly, sounding at least mildly hysterical. “That’s okay! It’s not like there’s anything wrong with that! That’s perfectly fine and not at all impossible, hee-hee-hee!”

Seeming justifiably skeptical about his less-than-convincing claim, the human raises an eyebrow down at the flower. “Well, if you say so,” they finally decide, a hint of cynicism remaining in their voice. They let their arm (the one that the weed is occupying, that is) fall back down to their side. “Then I suppose I believe you. Shall we go ahead and leave this place? It’s…” Making a face, they—uh, “Chara”—glance around, looking ill at ease as they survey the area. Sans thinks they glance at the alleyway he’s standing in for a second, but they don’t notice him (or he **hopes** they don’t, anyway). “This isn’t a very friendly town, you know?”

Scoffing, Flowey wraps itself tighter around their arm. “Nothing’s **friendly** down here,” it mutters into their shoulder. “Not anymore, anyway. I hate it.” Extricating its face from their sleeve, the weed stares up at Chara. “Let’s just get out of here, okay? I… I really, **really** hate this place.” Honestly, the skeleton isn’t sure whether the flower is talking about Snowdin or just the Underground in general, but he has to agree either way.

“Sure thing, partner,” they murmur softly, vacantly staring off into the distance with wide, thoughtful scarlet eyes. “Let’s try going this way, alright?” Without further ado, the human in the striped shirt begins to jog off to the east, leaving the suspicious glares and harsh whispers of many of Snowdin’s residents trailing in their wake.

Heh-heh, how convenient is this? The last time that Sans had seen Papyrus, he’d been striding off that way, muttering to himself about something: probably insulting Undyne or ranting about his own delusions of grandeur or whatnot (or, knowing his luck, saying just how useless he thinks Sans is and how he’s planning on punishing him for it later, but now is **really** not the time for him to be thinking about that if he wants to keep a clear head).

So, this is it, huh? The skeleton is **done** distracting his boss and keeping him out of the human’s way, because he thinks that the kid is as ready as they’re ever going to be. It’s time, then: they’re gonna fight his brother. He can’t help but grin widely, smile growing wider yet wider, until his face is **burning** because of the strain and it feels like it’s going to give way and **rip** into dusty shreds but he doesn’t **care** because this is it! Unless the weed manages to screw things up **really** badly, his brother is finally, finally going to **die**.

Suddenly, Sans realizes that he’s chuckling to himself. Course, his laughter starts out soft at first, then gets louder and louder and **louder** and he doesn’t even **care** about the disturbed looks that he’s getting because this is it! It’s time: time for him to finally be free from that damn **bastard**! “heh-heh-heh-heh…” Except he doesn’t have time to be standing here and laughing like some kinda crackpot who’s finding the voices in his head really, **really** hilarious today. Right now, he needs to hurry up and go find his **bro** in time so he can sit back, relax, and watch the fireworks. Good thing for him that he knows a shortcut, huh?

By the time Sans gets there, of course, his brother has already spotted the human. The both of ‘em seem to be in shock (which is definitely a fitting description, because the look on the kid’s face is **just** like the one they had when he’d shaken their hand back in the forest), staring at each other with wide, stunned eyes. “Golly,” Flowey mutters nervously, shaky voice all but lost to the wind. “Oh, gosh, this **can’t** be happening.” Jeez, does Petals seriously not know any **real** swear words? With him, it’s always “gee” and “golly” and “gosh” and “darn.” It’s almost sickening. But hey, even that annoying weed can’t bring down Sans’s mood, not really. After all, he’s **way** too pumped for that to happen: this is gonna be **good**.

Eyes narrowing, Papyrus glances down at Flowey with a haughty sneer, then, seemingly deciding to ignore him, shifts his gaze back to Chara. “A HUMAN,” he states lowly, looking more like he’s talking to himself than to the kid. “BUT HOW…” Suddenly, the skeleton’s gaze darkens. “SANS,” he spits venomously, face momentarily crumpling with rage, before he shakes his head and returns his attention to the kid. “WELL THEN, HUMAN! SINCE YOU SEEM TO HAVE MADE IT THIS FAR WITHOUT HAVING THE PLEASURE OF MAKING MY ACQUAINTANCE, ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF!” A cruel smirk crosses his face: he straightens, bringing one clenched fist to his breastplate as his scarlet cape billows dramatically in the wind behind him. Tch, what a showoff. “I AM THE **GREAT** PAPYRUS, ROYAL GUARDMAN: SOON TO BE THE **CAPTAIN** OF THE ROYAL GUARD! BUT, BEFORE I **BECOME** ITS LEADER, THERE IS ONE **TINY** THING I’LL NEED—AND, AS IT HAPPENS, YOU CAN GIVE IT TO ME!”

Naïve as always, the human frowns, tilting their head. “Um… what?”

A menacing grin. “WHY, A HUMAN SOUL, OF COURSE!” Papyrus pronounces gleefully, theatrically rolling his r’s. “NYEH-HEH-HEH-HEH!” Without any further ado, he lunges forward, and the battle commences.

Stunned, the human gapes for a second, looking like a gulping fish drowning dry, then weakly tries to make conversation. It doesn’t seem to go over well: the skeleton just scoffs and summons an attack, ignoring their words. They yelp, trying to dodge the bones. Sans can’t help but wince as he watches them. C’mon, don’t they know that they’re supposed to hold **still** when blue magic comes at ‘em? Honestly, he’s surprised that they’ve even survived this long. Didn’t anyone ever teach them about blue stop signs?

And it looks like they’re trying their best: it really does. So, when their soul bursts, it’s kind of a letdown. Hissing silently, Sans watches as the human crumples and falls to the ground like a lifeless doll, hair splayed out on the ground: blood seeps from their chest and stains the pale, slushy snow a bright, gleaming scarlet. Flowey screams. “Chara, no!” it screeches, unfurling from their arm and popping smoothly into the ground. Shivering uncontrollably (and Sans isn’t sure whether it’s from the cold or from grief, but he doesn’t care that much either way), the weed stares miserably down at them, face morphing into something half-familiar that Sans can’t quite place. “No, y—you don’t get to die. Not again: not if it’s **really** you! Please, no, no, no!” It screws its face up then, after a moment’s concentration, gasps in shock. “Why can’t I…”

Completely unbothered by the flower’s cries, Papyrus stomps forwards, eyeing the crimson shards of soul (and hey, whaddya know: that thought from earlier about the broken glass looking like a shattered soul turned out to be pretty accurate, after all). “I’LL TAKE CARE OF YOU IN A MINUTE,” he states offhandedly, sparing Flowey a cruel glance before going to grab the shards.

Okay, seriously, what is **taking** the weed so long? When **it** dies, it comes back right back, but when the **human** dies, it takes its sweet time? C’mon. He needs that kid back, and he needs them **now**. Sure, Sans honestly wasn’t really expecting them to make it through a fight with Papyrus without dying at least once, but he **had** expected that the flower wouldn’t waste this much time bringing them back.

Suddenly, time stutters and skips to a halt, and then the human is back. About time, too. Rolling his eyes (or, well, eye), Sans shifts in place. This is gonna be a long battle, huh?

So he stands there, and he watches, and he waits. The kid dies some more times, of course, but that’s to be expected. What **isn’t** to be expected, and what he really doesn’t like the look of, is what they’re **doing**. They haven’t landed a single hit on his brother. In fact, Chara hasn’t even tried attacking him once. Instead, the human’s insisting on wasting their time trying other tactics: trying to talk him outta fighting, to be precise. Heh, yeah, like **that’s** going to work on him. If it was ever going to, Sans woulda gotten that to work years ago, so there’s no chance it’s gonna happen **now**.

Papyrus seems to share his opinion. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, HUMAN?” he demands heatedly, sending an avalanche of spinning bone attacks down upon them. “DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN TRICK **ME** —THE **GREAT** PAPYRUS—INTO LETTING MY GUARD DOWN?” A harsh cackle. “YOU PATHETIC CHILD. UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I HAVE SEEN THAT TACTIC USED **FAR** TOO MANY TIMES TO FALL FOR IT!” Magic swirls around his gloved hands, casting icy blue and fiery red light upon the glistening snow. “IT’S CLEAR YOU CAN’T DEFEAT ME, HUMAN! YEAH, I CAN SEE YOU SHAKING IN YOUR BOOTS! SO, TELL ME: WHY DON’T YOU JUST GIVE UP ALREADY AND **DIE**? NYEH-HEH-HEH!” God, Sans hates his brother’s laugh almost as much as he hates his overinflated ego: both are **way** too annoying.

“But I’m not **trying** to defeat you, Papyrus.” Quickly, the human ducks an array of wickedly-sharp bones, gasping with exertion. “I don’t even want to fight you in the first place! I—I just want to be your friend! **That’s** why I’m not giving up on you.” Pleadingly, they stare at him with insistent ruby eyes. “You pretend to be angry and mean, but I believe that, deep down, you’re secretly a good person.”

For a long moment, the skeleton stares at them, then shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME, HUMAN,” Papyrus hisses lowly, voice becoming a deadly whisper. Abruptly, his voice dramatically spirals upwards as he returns to his former, theatric behavior. “YOU DON’T KNOW A **THING** ABOUT WHO I AM OR WHAT I’VE DONE!” A menacing grin. “BUT IF YOU DID, YOU WOULDN’T BE FOOLISH ENOUGH TO THINK I’M A ‘GOOD PERSON.’ THAT I COULD EVER BE YOUR **FRIEND**!”

Yeah, no kidding. Why doesn’t this kid just hurry up and start fighting already? Don’t they know **anything**? In this world, it’s kill or be killed, **especially** where Papyrus is concerned. No amount of begging or pleading **ever** convinces him to stop, and that’s not gonna change because some kid bats their eyes at him and says pretty please.

Suddenly, Chara unexpectedly lunges forwards and grabs Papyrus’s arm. The flower inhales sharply: Sans blinks, then cracks a smile. Heh, did the human finally get the memo and decide to start attacking? **Finally**. He can’t say he understands **how** it’s an attack, though, but hey. Small steps, right? At least they’re trying. They’ll get the hang of it.

Looking bewildered, Papyrus stares down at the hand wrapped around his left radius and ulna, seeming like he can’t quite believe his eyesockets. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE **DOING** , HUMAN?” he demands angrily, trying to yank his arm away. Seems like the kid is stronger than they look, though: the skeleton’s efforts are in vain. “HOW **DARE** YOU? REMOVE YOUR HAND FROM MY ARM THIS **INSTANT** , BEFORE I REMOVE IT **FOR** YOU!”

Still, the human refuses to let go of him, clinging on for dear life. “No!” they stubbornly shout. “Just l—listen to me! Everybody, no matter who they are or what…” A tear runs down Chara’s face. “Or what they’ve **done** or—or even **tried** to do, can be a good person if they just try hard enough, and I don’t think you’d have to try very hard at all.” They sniffle. “Please, just… why—why do you even **care** so much about becoming the captain of the Royal Guard, huh?”

Roughly, the skeleton shoves them off and throws a few more attacks at them, though he doesn’t seem to be trying as hard as he had been a minute ago. “I DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER TO YOU, TINY HUMAN!” he tells them irritably, though his voice is softer than it had been. “BUT, FOR YOUR INFORMATION…” A heavy sigh. Papyrus seems conflicted, though Sans knows that he has to be faking it. No **way** is this random **human** getting through to him, not **now** , not after everything that’s happened. “DOWN HERE, IT’S KILL OR BE KILLED! YOU TAKE, OR YOU ARE TAKEN FROM! IF YOU AREN’T PUSHING PEOPLE DOWN, YOU’RE GOING TO BE **PUSHED** DOWN BY SOMEONE ELSE!”

“That’s not fair,” the kid whispers.

A distant look in his eyes, Papyrus regards them. “I KNOW,” he says simply, something lost swirling within his dark gaze. There’s this strange tone in his voice, too: it almost sounds like—no, no, **no** , it **isn’t** what it sounds like. It **can’t** be. This is some kinda trap, or trick, or **something**. He’s faking it! “BUT I’M AFRAID THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT ANY LESS TRUE.” With a wave of his hands, he summons another line of glinting bones, preparing to hurl them at the small human.

“Wait!” Chara clenches their jaw: the skeleton hesitates, considering them. “What if it didn’t have to be?” Stubbornly, they cross their arms. “I’m going to ch—change the way that things are down here. This is wrong. It shouldn’t **be** like this. Nothing’s the way it was before. Monsters used to be so **nice**.” What are they talking about? There’s no way that they can know about how things were before the prince’s death. No human’s **ever** managed to leave the Underground, so the information couldn’t have spread to the surface. In fact, from what he’s heard, most humans don’t even seem to know that they’re still down here. Besides, even if they’d been down here their whole life, they’re too young to have been alive back then. “I’ve already gotten through to a lot of people in the Underground and reminded them that things don’t have to be bad, and I’m going to do it for everyone else down here, too. So…” Almost shyly, they look up at him. “Can’t we just be friends? I… I wasn’t lying when I said I thought you were a good person, deep down. I think that you just forgot that you were. That…” Hesitation. “That, maybe—maybe you **had** to forget, in order to survive in the Underground. Am I wrong?” They bite their lower lip, scarlet eyes shining with charcoal-dark tears. “Please. Do we really have to fight? Let’s… let’s just be friends instead, okay?”

Chara is sparing Papyrus.

Okay, **that’s** enough. What the hell is this kid’s **problem**? Anybody else, sure, but there’s no way that they can just show up and sweet-talk **Papyrus** into sparing them. (He’d make a joke about that happening when hell freezes over, but that feels **uncomfortably** appropriate given their surroundings.)

Welp, he guesses that this round is over. Papyrus is gonna take advantage of their mercy and one-shot ‘em. Heh, that’s the thing about betrayal kills: they’re quick, easy, cheap, and also one of the many, many reasons that everyone refuses to spare each other down here. Next run, maybe, the kid won’t be so trusting. With any luck, they’ll drop this “good person” shtick, finally realize that Papyrus is irredeemable, and decide to dust him so that Sans can go ahead and move on from this already.

“…FINE.”

Suddenly, the battle is over, leaving Sans gaping in disbelief. The human, on the other hand, seems thrilled. Quickly, Chara charges at the tall skeleton and hugs him—though, because of the rather large height difference between the two, the human ends up tightly squeezing his legs instead. “Thank you,” they whisper fervently into his kneecaps. “I swear you won’t regret it.”

Stilling, Papyrus regards the human, something bemused—almost curious—in his gaze. After a long moment, he uncertainly raises a gloved hand and places it gently on their head, patting them awkwardly. The skeleton looks kind of confused: probably has no idea how to deal with someone being genuinely nice. “WELL, I’D CERTAINLY **BETTER** NOT REGRET MY DECISION TO ELECT YOU PITY, TINY HUMAN!” he stresses eventually, returning to his typical dramatic behavior, though there’s no real malice in his voice anymore. “IF **UNDYNE** MANAGES TO REAP YOUR SOUL, THEN SO HELP ME, I’LL FIND A WAY TO BRING YOU BACK TO LIFE SO I CAN KILL YOU MYSELF!” Suddenly, something strange flickers in his eyes. Papyrus’s voice abruptly becomes that low, serious whisper again (or, y’know, his **equivalent** of a whisper). “LISTEN TO ME, SMALL ONE. IF YOU REALLY CAN CHANGE THINGS?” Shaking his head, he pauses, gaze drifting down to the glimmering snow (and yeah, there’s no doubting that that’s regret in his eyes now). “WHEN YOU SAID THAT LIFE DOWN HERE SHOULDN’T BE LIKE THIS, YOU WERE RIGHT. I BARELY REMEMBER IT ANYMORE, BUT I KNOW THAT THINGS WERE… **BETTER** , BEFORE! AND IF YOU TRULY THINK YOU CAN MAKE THINGS RIGHT? THAT YOU CAN CHANGE THIS PLACE? THEN, FOR ALL OUR SAKES, **DO** IT!”

“Don’t worry: I will,” the human promises. They grin up at him, and Sans wants to **tear** that stupid smirk right off their face and rip it to mangled shreds and light it on fire so they can never smile again, because **no**. **Hell** no! They just… How had—they’d just **spared** Papyrus!

This is **impossible**. It isn’t fair: it isn’t **right**! He spent years, **years** , trying to get through to his brother, trying to remind him that they were **family** and they didn’t **have** to fight and it didn’t have to **be** this way: trying to get him to **stop**. He’d tried to bring back the old Papyrus—the tiny, trusting, cheerful, smiling, innocent skeleton that had been his brother—for so, so long, but it had never worked, and Papyrus just kept on **fighting** him and **insulting** him and **attacking** him and **abusing** him even when Sans hadn’t even done anything **wrong** , and eventually he’d just given up because what does it really **matter**? Nothing matters: everything is **pointless**! Heh-heh-heh-heh, why even **try** when you can just give up instead? But then this kid, this **human**? They waltz in and, instantly, the whole damn Underground just bends over **backwards** for **them** and—

This kid.

Suddenly, his mind clears. He can see everything clearly now. All of this is the human’s fault. They shouldn’t have been able to spare his brother, to spare **anyone**. In this world, it’s kill or be killed: sparing isn’t even an option. But yet this kid thinks they can just skip through life with a smile on their face and a rainbow in their heart or whatever the **hell** is it that they think they have, showing mercy to everyone, and everything’s just going to be **fine**? Like nothing’s **wrong** with that?

**h e w i l l d e s t r o y t h i s d a m n h u m a n.**

Obliviously, innocently, causally, the kid beams up at Papyrus, looking as happy as can be. And then, on accident, they glance over to the side, and they see **him**. And Sans isn’t exactly sure when his left pupil turned into an iris and started glowing like fire, but he can tell that the human isn’t all that pleased to see him: terrified out of their skin is more how he’d describe the way that, judging by their expression, they seem to be feeling. Gasping, they scramble back, hurt and fear and shock and confusion all mingling on their face. But he’s not **that** much of a, heh, **numbskull**. He isn’t gonna fall for their tricks anymore: he won’t let them sway him with wide, trusting crimson eyes and sweet, innocent, childish words any longer. They don’t deserve **anyone’s** pity, least of all his. All of this is their fault, and he’s going to make them **pay** for it, because this isn’t fair and **somebody’s** gotta balance the scales around here. Heh-heh, **he’ll** be the judge of what they deserve, not the twofaced, lying hypocrites down here… oh, and look, he’s already reached a verdict. (It’s guilty, by the way.)

Papyrus seems to notice the kid’s sudden distress. “HUMAN?” he wonders aloud, staring at them for a long moment before following their gaze curiously. “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?”

Of course, by that point, Sans is already gone.

__

Honestly, after everything that’s happened, all he really wants to do is go to Grillby’s and drink all of the mustard in that joint—no, **all** the condiments, and maybe all of the alcohol for good measure, too. Unfortunately, he thinks he might still be banned after the last little, uh, **incident** that had happened there. Besides, either way, he needs to stay sharp and keep an eyesocket on that human so he can keep them from doing anything they shouldn’t do.

Sans isn’t entirely sure what they’re planning on doing: not down to the letter, anyhow. But he’s got a pretty good idea. In fact, he’s ninety-nine-point-eight percent sure that they’re gonna head for the barrier and, while they’re at it, become **chums** with every monster they encounter on the way. Then, they’re going to have to fight Asgore, but they’ll somehow manage to buddy up to him, too, and then the two of them will put their heads together and figure out a way to both break the barrier and set everyone down here free without any more dust or blood being spilled.

So it’s simple. He’s gotta make sure that they never reach the king.

Course, he’ll let them do their thing for a little while longer. He’s not gonna just pop out from behind a conveniently-shaped lamp or something, say “boo,” and blast them into oblivion. That’s not really his style. Besides, it’d be too exposed. Anyone could see what he was doing, news would make its way back to Snowdin, and Papyrus would catch wind of it. That’s not exactly what he’s aiming for with all this. It wouldn’t exactly end well, **that’s** for sure. Luckily, Sans knows the perfect spot to ambush them.

Back before the prince died, before “kill or be killed” became the only law around here, there used to be this huge, elaborately decorated, beautiful hallway called the Judgment Hall that people had to pass through to get to the King’s place. In the old days, he’d heard it’d been quite the spectacle: light like molten gold always shone through the hall, and stained glass and marble pillars and arches towered as high as the eye could see. The King would appoint a monster as the Royal Judge in secret, and, when someone was accused of a serious crime, they’d have to pass through the hall and talk to the Judge about their actions. If the accused monster was deemed innocent (or, at the least, capable of being redeemed), they’d be allowed to leave the hall so long as they kept quiet about the identity of the Judge, but if they weren’t…

Well. Let’s just say that the Judge was picked not only for honesty and empathy and subtlety and all, but also for magical prowess, and leave it at that, huh? Heh-heh-heh.

Course, nowadays, there’s no Judge, and the place is a wreck. Someone went in and trashed the place ages ago, and no one really cares about finding out who did it or about fixing it anymore. Still, it’s the only way to get to the Throne Room from here—and, thus, to both Asgore and the barrier—so the human’s going to have to pass through there.

It’s almost always abandoned. Since the Underground is so territorial, not a lot of people like moving from place to place. The area around it tends to be pretty empty, too, so no monster is going to just happen to pass by, see him, and run back to Snowdin to report to his brother about it. Besides, he can’t help but find the irony to it kinda funny. After all, he’d told himself that he’d be the judge of what the human deserved, hadn’t he?

As it happens, he’s already found the kid guilty by a long shot. In his book, they’ve already committed one serious crime: sparing Papyrus—and, of course, all those other residents of Snowdin and all. King Fluffybuns ruled a long time ago that the most important law left in the Underground is “kill or be killed,” so showing people mercy is breaking the law, isn’t it? Plus, they’re planning on breaking the barrier, too, which, in his book, is icing on the spider donut, because no way in **hell** is he going to let **that** happen on his watch.

The human deserves to die. In fact, **everyone** down here deserves to die.

And hey, who knows? Because of what the kid has done down here, everyone really might all sit down together and, as one, decide to become pacifistic goody-two-shoes and make “friends” with each other again. Sure, he doubts it, because there’s no way has the human managed to **really** teach monsters anything, but he guesses that it’s a possibility. And if it does happen? If things do start changing around here? Well, that’s just **swell** , but it means **nothing**. Even if they go around and apologize to each other, it doesn’t change the past: it doesn’t change what they’ve **done**. Monsters have been murdering each other for years. They’ve ruined each other’s lives, and they’ve manipulated and raped and tortured and betrayed each other for years upon years upon years, and saying “sorry” isn’t enough to make up for everything they’ve done, no matter **how** sweetly they say it. **Nothing** will **ever** be enough.

Everyone deserves to die, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Life **is** pointless, after all: he’s known that one for a long, **long** time. But, unfortunately, he can’t go around and kill everyone. If he could, he woulda done it a while ago, because monsters have had this coming for years, and he has tried before (and almost succeeded), but he just—he can’t **do** it. There… there are some people down here that he admittedly just can’t bring himself to fight, no matter **how** much they deserve it, no matter how much he wants to strike them down. However, he **is** more than willing to kill the kid. The only thing that’s in his way is a half-remembered promise to a lady who has a sense of humor that’s simultaneously as goofy and as twisted as his is, but that’s not exactly gonna stop him from doing what he’s gotta do. **Nothing’s** gonna stop him.

Oh, yeah: there’s also, of course, the small matter of their determination. Judging by a conversation he overheard between the weed and the human, **they** are now the one with control over the timeline: over the **resets**. Sure, Sans bets he’ll be able to kill them off in a matter of seconds, but they’re going to come back, which is, uh, kind of a problem. So he’s just going to have to make it so they **don’t** come back. Ever.

It’s simple. He’s going to have to frustrate them into giving up. Irritate them. Kill them off in cheap ways. Make them die over and over and over again until they’ve been killed more times than they can count and they don’t really care about living any longer. They’ll lose all of their determination, and they’ll lose all of their hope, and they’ll start to wonder why they’re even **bothering** to try anymore, and **that’s** when he’ll have beaten them. That’s when they won’t come back.

Heh. If **anyone** knows about that, it’s him, right? That’s how he knows it’ll work. It might take a lot of time and a lot more pain, but eventually, after enough times, they’ll **crack**.

Sans just wishes that the human would go ahead and get a move on already. They haven’t even left Snowdin yet. Actually, judging by the noises coming from downstairs, they’re still hanging around his house. Papyrus had decided to bring them over and show them around the place, for some reason: some sort of **playdate** , or something. (Actually, he thinks he heard his boss heatedly shouting the words “YOU’RE WAY BETTER AT FRIENDSHIP THAN I AM” at some point. Sans still doesn’t know what was with **that** , but he doubts he wants to find out.)

Abruptly, loud, violent banging echoes out from the door: no, knocking. The skeleton flinches back, wincing as emotion flickers momentarily across his face. “SANS, I KNOW CAN HEAR ME!” Papyrus shouts from the other side of the door. “GET OUT HERE THIS INSTANT! THERE’S A FRIEND OF MINE I WANT TO INTRODUCE YOU TO, AND YOU’RE MAKING ME LOOK LIKE A BAD HOST!” A crackle of energy, then a buzz, then crunching thuds shake the house. Heh, attacking the door with magic now, huh? Yeah, he’s really glad that he finally mustered (or **mustard** , heh-heh) up the courage to put his shields back up this morning. This whole time, his brother has been trying to get into his room—or, to be precise, get him **out** of his room: all so he can introduce him to someone he already knows. There’s humor in that somewhere, and he knows it. He’s just, heh, having a hard time finding the funny side right now.

Oh, yeah. The fact that his brother’s so-called “friend” is actually a human is pretty hilarious, considering the fact that, up until like an hour ago, Papyrus had sworn he despised all humans and would kill all of them he ever saw. Plus, there’s the fact that, before, Sans had been helping out the kid and Papyrus ended up attacking them on sight, and now, **after** Papyrus fought them, the tables have turned. Funny how things work out, huh?

A few more blows land furiously on the door before, eventually, Papyrus gives up. “WELL, I HOPE YOU ARE PROUD OF YOURSELF, BROTHER!” he seethes passionately. “NOW THEY’RE GOING TO LEAVE WITHOUT HAVING MET YOU, ALL BECAUSE OF YOUR **LAZINESS**! I SWEAR, ONE OF THESE DAYS…”

Hey, what was that? The kid’s leaving?

Sans allows himself to grin, darkness lurking behind his eyes. This is **really** gonna be way too easy.

__

He doesn’t let himself be seen. That’d take the fun right out of it.

Course, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t let the kid **know** that they’re being tailed. In fact, he makes certain that they **do**. Sans pulls out all the stops to ensure it: he loudly moves random things around when they aren’t looking, he breathes on the back of their neck to scare them and disappears when they whirl around in terror, he puts his hood up and watches from afar when they hold that impromptu concert with Dieren, he whispers some pretty gory threats and nasty warnings to the Echo Flowers—but he never, **never** allows them to see him, and he never lets them know for sure that it’s him. If he does that, after all, then they’ll doubtlessly call Papyrus for help. And, if **that** ends up happening at any point, then this whole thing will be over before he knows it, and he **definitely** can’t have that.

On top of that, his brother keeps trying to get ahold of him. First, it was just via phone call, which hadn’t been so bad, despite the fact that Papyrus usually never calls him. For that, he could just put his phone on silent and ignore the voicemails. Now, though, he’s been texting Sans **constantly** : from the looks of it, trying to find him and talk to him. Unfortunately for him, Sans doesn’t plan on giving him the satisfaction of a response.

It’s not **just** that he doesn’t want to talk to his brother—though, of course, that’s still true. But, in this particular circumstance, it has less to do with **that** fact and more to do with the fact that all of these messages, no matter through what method they’re sent or how they’re worded, seem to all share something of a… something of a common **theme**. And, personally, he isn’t exactly the biggest fan of what it seems to be.

After all, Sans already knows that, no matter what happens, he’s never going to forgive **anyone** down here for all the things they’ve done. **Especially** not Papyrus.

The kid appears to pick up on the fact that he’s avoiding them, though. Every time they walk by one of his sentry stations, they stop, and they stare, and sometimes they even ask bystanders about who normally sits there and why no one’s there now—to which, unsurprisingly, the answer is always “why the hell should I tell you?” or “none of your goddamn business” or something of a similarly unhelpful tone. Of course, if the human doesn’t originally pick up on the fact that they’re **his** stations, they probably figure it out when they fall for the superglue-on-the-telescope trick that he set up next to one of them a while back. Funny, seemingly-harmless, but dangerous: pretty much sums up his pranks in a nutshell. Heh, they end up having to reset just so they can get out of it with their eyelid intact, too, which makes it even funnier despite the whiplash the space-time manipulation gives him.

But, for the most part, they seem to be ignoring his glaring absence. Sure, they frown when Papyrus frantically calls them to ask if they’ve seen him anywhere, and they get an uncomfortable look on their face when they pass by one or another of the abandoned stations, but, for the most part, they just keep pushing forwards and befriending more and more monsters as they slowly inch closer and closer to the barrier.

In the meantime, things are definitely changing down here. When he drops back by Snowdin to check up on things, he notices that someone’s put Christmas decorations back up on that old tree, and people have been putting loads of gifts underneath it. They’re not even bad ones, either: when Sans opens the one with his name on it, he finds a bottle of mustard and a note telling him that he’s officially allowed back into Grillby’s, so long as he promises to pay his tab and stop baiting the Royal Guards with dog-related puns. Of course, they both know that neither one of those things are actually gonna end up happening, and he’ll probably end up banned again within a week, but he appreciates the sentiment anyway. And the mustard. (Mostly the mustard.) Still, the fact that it’s the **kid** who’s causing all this really chafes his nonexistent hide, y’know? And, again, playing nice and giving gifts isn’t going to make up for all the deaths that these people have caused and all the pain that they’ve been inflicting on each other over the years. That doesn’t just **disappear**. People don’t change that easily. And, deep down, monsters will **never** change: they’ll be rotten to the core until the day they finally keel over and die.

And, yeah, Sans may or may not have ignored the **other** gift addressed to him, the one that was wrapped in torn yellow wrapping paper covered in cartoony bones that’s been rotting in a box under their couch for years. The one with  TO MY BROTHER, SANS written on it in distinctively embellished handwriting he’s been seeing on reports and angry sticky notes for years. What can he say? It’s not gonna change. It’s never going to change.

(And by it, he means Papyrus. **He’s** not gonna change.)

So he goes back, and he watches as the kid and the weed struggle their way through Hotland. By far, the best part is when Alphys successfully manages to trick the two of them into thinking that she’s just some lonely, anime-obsessed nerd who’s scared of everything happening in the Underground nowadays but yet wants to help them get out safely even though—and this part is the kicker—she’s been watching them the whole time from strategically placed cameras like the stalker she is, and they **know** about it.

Well, actually, no: the best part is that it’s **partially** true, because the Royal Scientist (or, uh, the **current** Royal Scientist, anyway) has always been a complete and utter geek, no matter how much she tries to hide it behind snide (yet stuttered, cause Al’s never been able to get rid of **that** little nervous tick) comments. Still, he sure gets a kick out of watching her guide the human into carefully-laid traps and send assassins after them, all while feigning ignorance and apologizing profusely and acting all concerned. Heh-heh, the kid is so sold on Alphys’s story that they actually end up reassuring her that it’s –heh— **not her fault** that things are being changed in the Underground **without her knowledge** and that they know it, hah, **isn’t intentional**. Honestly, he’s **really** disappointed when Mettaton goes rogue, confronts them, and tells them the truth about what she’s been doing all this time. But hey, it’s not all bad: Sans got to watch the robot lose all of his limbs **and** off himself on live television. Of course, the kid didn’t seem so happy about it, but **Mettaton** probably was: ratings went sky-high because of it, didn’t they? He’s all about the ratings, after all… or, well, he **was** , anyway. Not exactly all about anything anymore, seeing how he’s, y’know, **dead** and all.

Honestly, they reach the Judgment Hall far more quickly than Sans expected them to given the circumstances. Still, he’s waiting patiently for them when they do.

At first, the human seems surprised and afraid when they see him standing there. They take in their gloomy, decrepit surroundings and the expression on his face, and they look about ready to leap out of their skin and join him as a skeleton—well, not exactly as a **living** one like him, but a skeleton nonetheless. Then, realization seems to hit them, and they just look sad. “heya,” he greets casually, flashing them a winning smirk. “you’ve been busy, huh? i gotta admit, i expected you to take a lot longer to get here than you did, but i’m not really complaining.” A wink. “that means i didn’t have to spend quality nap time waiting on you to get here.”

“I know you’re angry at me, you know,” they say quietly, sounding defeated. “You looked really mad before, and you’ve been avoiding me. And Papyrus, too.” Biting down on their lower lip, the human looks up at him with big, pleading puppy eyes. Grin still in place, he grinds his teeth together: he really, **really** wants to wipe that stupid expression off their face for good—and, lucky for him, he’s fully planning on doing it. “Why?”

Sans chuckles, body shaking with laughter. “heh-heh-heh, **avoiding** ya? nah. i mean, papyrus, sure, but you?” He glowers menacingly at them, a dark leer on his face. “no, i’ve been keeping a close eye on **you** ,  pumpkin. wasn’t exactly going to let you out of my sight, not after everything **you’ve** been up to recently.”

Instantly, the weed speaks up, malice twisting its voice. “I told you he was the one following us, Chara!” it states challengingly, glaring defensively at him. “What’s your problem, huh?” It puffs out its petals, waving its leaves around in an attempt to look like a threat. It’s a pathetic attempt: he manages to keep himself from chuckling, but only barely. “What do you want from us?”

“Why do you hate me so much?” the kid asks more softly, staring up at him with wide crimson eyes. “What did I do wrong? I…” They sniffle. “Papyrus is really worried about you. He thinks that someone…” Uncertainly, the human hesitates, stuttering over their words. “That something really, **really** bad happened to you. And you were so nice to me before, and you saved my life, and I—I kind of thought we were **friends** , comedian!”

At that, the skeleton can’t help but snort. **Wow** , this kid is either **very** presumptuous or even more naïve than he’d thought, and he’s not sure which option he likes better. C’mon: friends? With **him**? Jeez. “yeah, uh, i think you missed a memo,” Sans drawls slowly, watching their face fall. “ **friends** don’t exist down here, angel.” The human makes a soft, betrayed noise in the back of their throat: he chuckles a little but, for the most part, ignores them. “anywho. so, i got a question for ya. do you think even the **worst** person can change?” Sarcasm thick in his voice, he deliberately widens his eyesockets, forcing a mockingly innocent look onto his face and a Pollyanna complex into his voice. “that anybody— **everybody** —can be a good person, so long as they just **try**?”

Jaw clenching, the human nods firmly, evenly meeting his gaze. “Yes, I do,” they state decisively, and Sans can’t help but hate them a little more for it. Jeez, this kid is past naive at this point: now, he’s more inclined to believe that they’re just an idiot.

“heh-heh-heh-heh… stupid question, huh?” His grin widens. “yeah, i already **know** that’s what you think. you’re wrong, by the way. none of these people that you think you’ve made ‘friends’ with are good people, not even if ya look deep, **deep** down. i can tell you that much right off the bat.” Carelessly, Sans shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning against a cracked pillar as he eyes them up amusedly. “well, since that question was so easy for you, here’s a better one.” His eyesockets go dark. “do you wanna have a bad time?”

Abruptly, both the kid and the weed look terrified again. They cringe, edging cautiously away from him. “Um… no?” they answer uncertainly, hesitantly drawing out their words. Flowey wraps itself more tightly around their arm: judging by the human’s pained wince, it’s cutting off their circulation. Heh, if **that** reaction is anything to go by, it seems like Petals isn’t too keen on going toe-to-toe with him again. Not that he can blame it for that.

Straightening, the skeleton grins at them. “welp, sorry to hear that,” he informs casually, mocking sympathy in his voice. “maybe you shoulda thought of that before you started sparing people. i did warn ya that it was kill or be killed down here, but i guess you didn’t listen. so, uh…” A shrug and a mocking wink. “i, personally, plan on having a **great** time. you, on the other hand, are **really** not gonna like what happens next.”

As an afterthought, Sans mentally apologizes to the lady behind the door to the Ruins. What can he say? It’s not exactly like he’s had the best track record with promises in the past. After all, though he’s completely fine with **making** them, he isn’t really a huge fan of **keeping** them.

Instantly, the battle begins: the kid gasps in surprise as they’re pulled into the fight, gaping at him in hurt disbelief. “it’s a miserable day outside,” he informs, smirking at their shock. Heh, they still do have the best reactions he’s seen in a while, and he bets they’re gonna get even **better** here in a minute. “children are crying. flowers are wilting.” Helplessly, Sans shrugs. “i’d say something about how kids like you should be burning in hell on days like these, but c’mon. let’s face it.” The skeleton’s left iris sparks to life. “you’ve been doin’ that since you got here, sugar.”

They’re dead within five seconds flat. True to form, their reaction was pretty great. In fact, he’s pretty sure that he heard an audible yelp of fear out of them when the blasters showed up. Grinning at the thought, Sans smugly closes his eyesockets, leans back, and waits.

Sure enough, a minute later, he finds his eyes open again and glaring at the kid. They don’t look too happy, either. “that expression…” Smirking, Sans watches as the human’s face suddenly contracts with both realization and bewilderment, seemingly noticing the fact that he’s gone off-script: that he’s saying something different than he had the first time. “guess i’m pretty good at my job, huh?”

__

*SANS. ATK 1, DEF 1.

*This self-appointed judge has found all monsters guilty and sentenced them to life in prison. The easiest enemy: can only deal 1 damage.

*You think checking this isn’t the best use of my time.

__

They die again. And again, and again, and again: over and over and over and over. Of course, the more times they die, the longer they last, but he knows that they aren’t gonna be able to keep it up forever. They’re going to get tired of it, and, one of these resets, they’re going to give up and stay dead… or maybe they’ll just kill him. Heh, who knows? People can do **crazy** things when they get desperate enough, after all. He guesses he’ll just have to wait and find out which one ends up happening.

“y’know,” the skeleton hears himself saying conversationally, sounding relaxed as can be, “our reports showed quite the anomaly in the timespace continuum. timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting.” Winking, he threw another set of bones and blasters at them. “until suddenly, everything ends. now, i gotta admit, i used to not be so big of a fan of that idea. used to scare the hell out of me, actually.” His eyes go dark. “heh-heh-heh-heh…” Now, he can’t wait for it to finally happen to **his** timeline.

Agilely, the human dodges the whirlwind of bones, though a few manage to whack ‘em. “Wait, timespace continuum? The way you’re speaking… Are—are you a scientist?” they question, sounding baffled. The weed looks equally confused, too. Sans guesses it didn’t get to hear this last time they fought. “And you said ‘our reports,’ too. Do you secretly work with Doctor Alphys or something?”

Okay, yeah, he probably should have expected that. Sans’s eyesockets flicker pitch-black for a second as he tries not to think about who the scientist who he’d worked with had **actually** been and not to correct the kid’s use of present tense in reference to something that’s, in reality, a half-forgotten (or, uh, half- **erased** , to be more precise) past for him. “y’know, at first, i thought that you were gonna be the one to do that,” he informs them, ignoring their questions. “that you were gonna turn out to be the one who destroyed all those timelines.” The point in all those other universes when everything tends to go kaput is about now, after all. “but, uh, i’m guessing that i was wrong.” His left iris flickers cyan-yellow for a second as he uses his magic to slam them against the wall, quickly returning back to scarlet. “honestly, i’m kinda disappointed.”

Shaking off their pain, the human frowns. With an identical look of bewilderment, the flower begins to speak for them. “Why—”

And then a Gaster Blaster takes them by surprise, and they fall to the floor, lifeless. Blood pools around their head, matting their dark hair and painting the grimy, cracked tiles a bright crimson. “sorry,” he says amusedly, absentmindedly flinging a bone at the flower wrapped around their arm in order to crush it before it gets the chance to keep talking. “didn’t quite catch that, weed. care to repeat what you said?”

After dutifully making their way through the preceding conversation (and man, if that doesn’t wear thin very fast), the flower does. “ **Why** are you disappointed about being wrong, exactly?” it questions irritably. “What, did you **want** them to be the one that destroyed timelines?” Flowey’s face scrunches up, looking disgusted. “Seriously, what would you even get **out** of that?”

Heh-heh-heh. Still, he’s making a point of not listening to either one of them, so he keeps on ignoring the weed. “you can’t know how it felt, knowing that one day, without any warning, it was all gonna be reset by someone like you,” Sans tells the kid, eye aglow with magic. “or, worse, deleted entirely. it makes you panic. it makes you get angry, and upset, and hopeless, and desperate. eventually, you start to question why you’re botherin’ to try in the first place, and you just give up on caring.” An empty grin. “to be honest, it made it kinda hard to give it my all. still does.” Or is that just a poor excuse for being lazy? Hell if he knows, but he’s not gonna voice **that** to them. He’s not exactly saying all this because he wants to get this stuff off his chest. Earlier, he decided that describing his own issues with hopelessness might get them in the mindset to give up some hope of their own, and mentioning that resets had caused it could push them towards blaming themselves for his, uh, **state** , and maybe even giving up on using them. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be telling them **any** of this.

“I—I’m so sorry,” the human stutters, looking impossibly guilty (though the look is kind of ruined when they end up having to break eye contact so they can duck to dodge a barrage of bones). “I didn’t know you knew about…” Abruptly, they decide to change topics, scarlet eyes widening. “Hang on. I don’t want to destroy anything, though! Is that why you’re fighting me, because you think I’m going to or something? Because if that’s it, then you’re wrong. I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

The skeleton grimaces, because this kid sure is persistent, aren’t they? Still, they’re wrong about why he’s fighting them, and he’s not gonna let them spare him, no matter what they say. So, instead of responding, he just keeps on talking, trying to tune their words out as he continues to throw attack after attack at them. “but then you came down here, and i figured out what you were up to. and, with that being what it is, i can’t afford not to care anymore.” Well, actually, he’d started caring again some before they came down here. Not because of any life-changing revelations or anything melodramatic like that, of course: no, it was because of that little mistake that Alphys had made. Heh, that’d turned out to be **quite** the accident, hadn’t it? Sans isn’t sure whether he’s proud of how badly she’d managed to mess up or pissed about how it’d affected him. “see, human, i know what you plan on doing. now that you’re done skipping around and pretending to make friends with every monster down here, you’re gonna go try to break the barrier, aren’t ya?” A chuckle: with a wave of his hand, the blasters are back. “and i really can’t let that happen.”

It ends up being a bone that ends this run. Almost anticlimactic, really.

By the time that they get all the way back to that point in the fight, Flowey looks really irritated about something. Sans can’t **possibly** imagine what that might be. “Well, why not?” it snipes sarcastically, baring its fangs—and just how does a flower has **fangs** to begin with, anyway? Eh, he probably doesn’t actually want to know the answer to that. “Don’t you want to be **free** or whatever? I mean, you’d get to leave the Underground and go up to the surface. Isn’t that what everyone’s been wanting for so long?”

Free? “heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.” For a brief minute, the skeleton gives up on pretending to ignore what the both of them are saying and glowers directly at the weed, because forget the “protecting” thing from earlier: **that’s** now the best joke he’s ever heard. “free? yeah, right.” No, he wouldn’t be free. There’s only one way he’ll ever be free, and that’s when his **brother** turns to dust. If they really want to set him free, they should reset the entire timeline and kill Papyrus, but, somehow, Sans doubts they plan on doing him that little favor. Hah, so much for **free**. “besides, think about that whole ‘monsters leaving the underground’ thing. exactly **what** about that seems like a good idea to you, cupcake?”

The kid is so caught off guard by that question that they stop, and they trip, and they tumble **right** into a swirling river of bones. Instantly, they’re impaled, a choked, cut-off cry of agony escaping them (that quickly becomes a wet gurgle). One of the bones manages to go straight through Flowey’s face, or, uh, **whatever** that part of a flower is called: Sans couldn’t have aimed it better if he’d actually been **trying** to spear the weed. Heh-heh: somehow, he can’t help but find that kinda funny, so he quietly chuckles to himself, watching the human twitch for one last minute before finally going limp. Unfortunately, in the blink of an eyesocket, they’re right back standing in front of him, jaw clenched in silent challenge. He’s gotta give this kid props: they sure are determined, huh? Personally, Sans would have thrown in the towel a long time ago if he were in their shoes. Still, despite their stubbornness, they can’t keep on doing this forever. They’ll run out of determination eventually, given enough time—and time happens to be something he has no shortage of.

“I don’t understand you, comedian,” the human tells him once they’ve gotten through the rest of his dialogue, weary frustration audible in their voice. Sounds like the deaths are starting to get to them, huh? Heh. “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea, exactly?” Quickly, they bend down to dodge a shot from one of the blasters, analyzing him thoroughly all the while with a piercing scarlet gaze. “Monsters were wrongly imprisoned down here by humanity, and I’m **going** to free them. What, do you doubt me?”

They don’t notice when the flower cringes at their words and buries its face into their arm, but Sans sure does. After a moment’s consideration, he files it away for later. “wrongly imprisoned, huh? i mean, at first, sure.” His working eye sparks to life for a moment as he flings their soul to the wall, then to the ground. They jump, right before bones spring up in a failed attempt to skewer them again. “but you saw the way things are down here now. the way that monsters are.” A shrug. “and, sure, you **might** think that you’ve gone and made friends with all these people and redeemed them or whatever, but, uh, trust me.” His eyes go dark. “you haven’t. not really.”

“They’re not the ones trying to kill me right now,” the kid points out. “You are.”

Shaking his head, Sans chuckles humorlessly. This human sure is full of it, huh? Do they think that they’re, heh, **reasoning** with him or something? How naïve. If only they knew that **he’s** the only one seeing things clearly anymore. Well, they’ll see. “heh, right **now**? sure, sugar,” he condescendingly allows, a smug smirk curling up on his face for a moment. “but, soon as that barrier goes down, they’ll be lined up ‘round the block waiting to kill ya. they’re manipulating you, y’know? they do that.” Bitterly, he grins, thinking of the years upon years he’d spent thinking that his brother could be fixed, could be saved. “trust me: it’s what they’re good at. but, as soon as you’re done breaking the barrier, they’ll turn on you and kill you. and then they’ll kill everyone else on the surface.” A shrug. “so, uh, you see my issue with you trying to let us outta the underground.”

Stubbornly, they shake their head, glaring at him. “No,” they hiss, quickly raking their fingers through their hair. “You’re wr—wrong about them. They’ve changed.” The human whirls around, running quickly in a circle to avoid the Gaster Blasters before leaping into the air to dodge a projectile wall of bones. Their scarlet eyes blaze at him. “I’ve fixed things: I really have. Monsters used to be good people, and now they are again! You’ll see.” They sound like they’re talking more to themselves than to him.

Eh, he’s too lazy for this. The kid seems to have convinced themselves that they’ve changed things down here, and, though he knows that they haven’t, Sans doubts that he’s gonna be able to manage to change their mind without talking about anything **too** personal. If he keeps this up, he might end up spilling something about the things that Papyrus had done to him or what monsters (well, just the one) had done to the old man, and he’s pretty sure that’d end badly for everyone involved. Might have them thinking of him as a **victim** —as someone who can be redeemed, **saved** —and that’ll probably make them even more determined to spare him. Nah, it’s better just to make them quit out of frustration.

“welp, whatever helps you sleep at night, i guess.” A careless shrug, the quirk of a grin, a glimmer of yellow magic in his eye: the timeline stutters around them. When it returns to normal, bones of all shapes and sizes are caging the human in. Gasping, they leap into action and do their best to dodge as the bones whirl fluidly towards them, slashing and twirling and swirling through the air with dangerous grace. “pretty soon, it won’t matter anyway.” With a flash of cyan light, they’re hurled against the ground, then to the wall. Falling to the floor with a crunch and a muffled groan, they push themselves off the ground and wipe the blood off their face. “see, all this fighting is tiring me out,” Sans tells them, feeling his perpetual grin curl up even more around the edges as he watches them glare up at him, something pained and angry in their eyes. Heh, he has a feeling it’s not going to take too much more to make ‘em snap, make them do something **crazy**. “and, if ya keep pushing me, you’re gonna force me to use my **special attack**.” A wink. “now, if you don’t wanna see that attack, now might be a good time for you to, uh…” His iris sparks to life. “go ahead and **die** already, **cupcake**.”

A couple times, they actually do. Of course, from the looks of it, it’s not exactly just for fear of him using his “special attack,” heh-heh. But still, no matter how much he throws at them, they just keep on coming back. Again, again, again and again and again... hah, humans sure are something, huh? Before, he wouldn’t have thought it possible for anything to have this much raw DT. Hell, Sans knows for sure that the old man hadn’t accounted for this much even being a **possibility** , but yet here he is, killing the same human over and over and over again. They’re not the one getting tired: he is, and **he’s** not even the one dying here.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, he runs out of steam and flops against one of the many pillars littering the hall. “alright,” he pants heavily, feeling dust bead on his brow. (Yeah, that’s probably not a great sign. He hopes he won’t accidentally end up melting himself.) “that’s it.” Mustering enough energy for a crooked smile, he sucks in a deep breath and releases it, trying desperately to drag his attention back to the here and now. Eventually, his vision clears: apparently, he’s been staring at the floor this whole time. Huh. “it’s time for my special attack. heh…”  Grin turning into something of a grimace, the skeleton wearily lifts his head and locks eyes with the kid. “you ready, angel? here goes nothing.”

They wait for a long moment, expression slowly shifting from alert and fearful to confused. “Um,” Flowey drawls, eyes darting around in confusion. “What?”

“yep,” he nods. A few breathless chuckles escape him, causing his body to tremble. “that’s right. it’s… hah… **literally** nothing. and it isn’t gonna be anything, either. heh-heh-heh…” A cracking sound: oh, hell, is that fracture on his rib getting **wider**? He needs to stop laughing now, or he’ll end up as dust on the floor before he knows it. “get it, sugar? i know you’re not going to see the truth. you’re not gonna accept the fact that monsters can’t be saved because you’re so determined to believe that they can.” Steadying himself, Sans sucks in a deep breath, watching the kid blink at him curiously. “and, one of these turns, you’ll end up finding some way to get past me. so, uh. i’ve decided it’s not gonna be your turn. **ever**. i’ll just keep having my turn until you give up.” His pupils fade: his eyesockets go black. “even if it means we have to stand here until the end of time. or, uh, until **one** of us dies of dehydration and turns into a rotting corpse on the floor.” He winks, ignoring the flare of pain in his skull. “that wouldn’t be me, by the way.”

“Comedian, do you remember what you asked me before?” the human says unexpectedly, a questioning look in their eyes. There’s a strange look on their face: something too sappy and sympathetic for his tastes.

He decides not to humor the kid this time. “you’ll get bored, y’know,” he tells them instead, ignoring their words. “assuming that you haven’t already, that is.” Snorting softly, Sans shakes his head, squeezing his eyesockets shut for a long minute before reopening them and sweeping his gaze across the human. “look, sugar, i know your type.” Abruptly, rage floods back into him: a bitingly sarcastic tone enters his voice. “even if there’s, uh, literally no benefit to persevering whatsoever, even if you know for a fact that continuing on the path that you’re on will lead you right into the arms of a fate worse than death, you’ll just keep **soldiering** onwards.” A bitter, humorless chuckle. “yeah, you’ll just keep on going, because you tell yourself that you have to do something, to **finish** something. and, because you told yourself you would, because you think you’re determined, you’ll keep trying. you just can’t bear to admit you were wrong.”

“You asked me about something I thought,” the kid continues, ignoring him. “Something I said to your brother. You wanted to know if I believe that everyone can be a good person if they just try.” They bite down on their lower lip. “Well… I think that all monsters, whether they like to admit it or not, are inherently good. They can try to repress it, but they can never completely succeed. Deep down, they’ll always be good at heart. And that includes you.”

Wearily, Sans shakes his head, muffling a yawn behind his hand. “welp, you’re wrong,” he tells them nonchalantly, fighting the urge to just keel over and give up. Fall asleep, die, whatever. Why does he care this much about whether humans get themselves killed, anyway? They’ll all get offed at some point (or maybe die a natural death, he guesses, although that never happens down here anymore) for some reason or another. What does it matter to him? “they’re not. especially…” He’s unable to hold back his next yawn. God, he’s so **tired**. Heh, that last attack had sure worn him out, hadn’t it? “especially not me.”

He sees the kid exchange a meaningful glance with Flowey, but ignores it. It’s not like that **weed** can do anything, anyway. Better not to waste the energy. “No,” they venture quietly, voice cautiously soft. “I don’t believe that. If you actually try, you can be a good person. You just have to believe it yourself and give yourself a chance to be happy.”

A tired chuckle, then another. The skeleton closes his eyes. “heh-heh, did you really think—”

A swishing noise. Something goes **crunch**. Suddenly, he’s wide awake again, magic pouring from his eyesockets and his soul is thrumming erratically behind his ribcage because it **hurts** , it hurts, it hurts, **it** **hurts**! What the **hell** is happening to him? His ribs feel like they’re being ground to dust, and there’s something snaking around his arms and legs and around his spine and up to his neck and it’s **everywhere** and he doesn’t even care **what** it is: just get this thing the hell **off** of him! Coughing, he instinctively reaches up to his neck in an attempt to pry the—the **rope** or whatever the fuck this thing is off of him, but the thing holds him back: under its guidance, he stumbles back, legs working in clumsy harmony to force him away from the human—and holy **shit** , is it in his broken eyesocket? That little fucker is in his **eyesocket**!

Eyes watering, he desperately glances down with his one remaining eye and stares at his arm. His vision is swimming, but Sans can make out unfamiliar color anyway: there’s a streak of something green snaking around the grimy charcoal-black fabric of his hoodie, around his legs, spiraling up his body and winding around his bones.

There’s only one thing that’s green in this hallway.

Oh, no way in **hell**. “ **y o u** ,” the skeleton growls, feeling rage boil up in his metaphorical throat. “ **h o w d a r e y o u?** ”

“Go, Chara!” he hears the weed shout from its position wedged into his eyesocket, and **eugh** , he can feel every nervous twitch of the thing, and it’s wriggling around his body and inside his freaking skull. He wants so badly to rip the thing off of him and mash it to pulp, but he can’t move a single bone.

Silently, he swears to any and every higher power that might happen to be listening that he’s gonna make this stupid weed regret ever having the audacity to touch him, to control him. It should know better. He’s going to make it **learn** better in the most **agonizing** way possible. The skeleton feels like some kinda marionette tangled all up in strings: he can’t move a muscle unless the thing wants him to. He **hates** it, hates the weed for daring to restrain him and touch him and the brat for being so damn stupid and thinking they could go around sparing monsters, and it hurts it hurts it **hurts** and “ **i ’ m g o i n g t o k i l l y o u, y o u k n o w.** ”

The weed is cringing away from him (and rubbing up against the open cracks in his bones in the process, making them sting even more), but it keeps its grip anyway, making him stumble away a few more steps. “Just get to the throne room, okay? I’ll hold Smiley Trashbag back while you find D—I mean, King Dreemurr!”

“ **i ’ m g o i n g t o m a k e y o u s u f f e r, a n d t h e n i ’ m g o i n g t o k i l l y o u b o t h,** ” he grits out through his teeth, trying to struggle against his binds. He just needs one moment, just **one** split-second of weakness from the flower, and he can break free and **kill** that damn human before anyone can stop him and they’d have to load to before the flower pulled this stunt, but the binds on his hands are too strong and the pain won’t **stop** and oh, god, what is he going to **do**? All he’d needed to do was this one simple, easy task—kill this stupid human brat—and he’s already failed!  God, his brother was right. He’s worthless, a failure, just a waste of dust—

Wait a second. The kid is already gone.

Eyesockets widening, Sans redoubles his efforts, straining against the plant in an attempt to take a step forward and follow the kid. In response, the weed nervously tightens its grip around him, its vines shifting around his body. (He hears a few small cracks and crunches as the spider-web fissures in his glass-fragile bones widen but, wincing, ignores them.) “Quit it,” the flower hisses, sounding annoyed: the skeleton knows he isn’t imagining the fear in its voice. “Stop moving! Just… you’ve lost, okay?” Angrily, it squeezes his bones with all its might, sending even more waves of pain crashing over his body as his open wounds scream wordlessly at him and oh god oh god oh god **what is he going to do no no nO N _O N_** —

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity of frenzied agony, his thoughts finally settle down into something resembling coherency. Huh, whaddya know? That hadn’t killed him after all. Kinda disappointing. Still, he has to focus: he needs to make the flower doubt what it’s doing, force it to hesitate for just one second so that he can break free of its hold and stop the kid from dooming the surface to hell on earth. “why?” he manages to gasp. It’s a lot harder to speak than he’d thought it was going to be. Is one of his ribs broken or something? “you’re a lot of things, petals, but you’re not an idiot. you’ve been down here longer than they have. you know how bad monsters really are, what they’re capable of.” Shakily, he inhales and exhales: ugh, definitely a broken rib, or at least another severely cracked one. “why are you helping them? you can’t honestly tell me you believe any of this redemption shtick that the human’s throwin’ around.”

Hesitating, Petals shifts nervously in place, inadvertently raking its thorny vines all up against the skeleton’s open wounds in the process. Unfortunately, despite its hesitation, its grip remains strong as ever: no way is Sans going to be able to break through if the weed keeps this up. “I’m not going to doubt Chara again,” it finally says, sounding conflicted. “Y—yeah, they know what they’re doing, and I’m not going to mess up their plan this time!”

“this time, huh?” the skeleton notes, narrowing his eyesockets—or, at least, trying to. Seeing as one of them is, uh, **occupied** , that one kind of refuses to shut. Heh, sure would be convenient if he could close it, though: after all, if he did, he’d nip this little parasite in the, hah, **bud**. “strange choice of words.” It’s also kinda weird how the kid talks about how monsters **used** to be, how they seem to naturally understand the complicated layout of the Underground like they’ve been here a million times before… how familiar the name he’d heard them call themselves was.

Eh, whatever. **They** don’t matter. All that matters is that he **stops** them before they break the barrier. At this point, the skeleton can only hope that the weed decides to do something very, very stupid. “M—maybe they need help,” it anxiously says to itself. “Yeah, I should go check on them.” Yep, right on cue. He’s gotta admit that, for once in its miserable life, Petals certainly didn’t disappoint: that was a ridiculously—almost astronomically—stupid decision.

Knowing that the flower can’t see his expression given its, uh, **position** , the skeleton allows himself a small, fleeting smirk. Heh-heh-heh, this is all so deliciously ironic: he couldn’t have planned this out better if he’d actually been trying. What a joke. Heck, everything’s just one big, twisted joke, isn’t it? Well, at least he’s gonna draw the curtain on this little comedy skit soon. Sure, it’s been a laugh a minute, but his whole body hurts so **much** , and he’s… heh, honestly, he’s so **tired** that the whole thing’s kinda starting to lose its charm, y’know? It’s about time for the **comedian** (hah) to get pulled off the stage with one of those Vaudeville-style hooks, for the audience to disappear, for the theater to go dark. Show’s been on for too long: time for it to end already.

Hah. One big fuckin’ joke. Sans hopes everyone else is getting as big of a kick out of it as he is.

Obliviously, the weed leads him right to the kid and the king. Fluffybuns doesn’t seem to be in that great a shape: he’s kneeling on the ground before the human, one hand to his chest, beads of dust rolling off of his fur. Looks like the king’s struggling to, heh, **keep himself together** , one might say. Nothing he doesn’t deserve, of course, but Sans is kinda surprised. Judging by the looks of things, the kid actually **fought** him—but, of course, now they’re sparing him. Typical. How much HP does that **monster** even have right now, anyway?

Suddenly, the skeleton’s eyesockets widen. King Fluffybuns is at one HP. And while Sans may be bad at most things, and there may be a lot of stuff he can’t handle anymore, he knows for a fact that he can definitely **handle** one HP.

Feeling a sudden burst of energy surge through him–right down to the **bone** , heh—he raises a hand, lighting-yellow magic instantly sparking to life in his eyesocket and along his phalanges, buzzing in the air around him. Taken off-guard, the weed yelps in surprise, quickly rushing to pull him back, to restrain him, to slow him down, but it’s too late: his blasters are already surging eagerly forwards, snapping and glowering at King Fluffybuns with bitter, vengeful eyes. (Absently, he wonders if he’s sensing something of a grudge against dear ol’ Gorey coming from their direction. It’d definitely make sense, after all.)

**_ksccch_ **

**_thud_ **

Asgore’s eyes widen with shock, pupils instantly shrinking to dim, cloudy pinpricks. Slowly—so, so slowly—the king’s eyes drift dreamily (or maybe they’re drifting Dreemurr-ly, heh-heh) upwards, abandoning the kid’s gaze in favor of meeting the skeleton’s own. For a second, right before Asgore’s body disappears into billowing clouds of dust (leaving only his soul intact), Sans likes to think he catches a glimmer of something besides bewildered agony cross over the king’s face: something like **guilt**.

In response to that tortured look, the dark, shimmering splinter embedded deeply in the skeleton’s soul hums smugly. ~~**[Well, well. Serves you right for killing me, your majesty,]**~~ it pulses sleepily, drowsy amusement audible in its velvety, distorted-smooth tones. ~~**[For erasing me.]**~~

Whoops. Sans didn’t mean for **that** to happen. _go back to sleep, old man,_ he tells the soul-shard, absently aware that his eyesockets (both of them, even the broken one, and if **that** doesn’t sting like hell then nothing ever has or ever will) are flooded with bright, swirling magic stained with the colors of a soul that isn’t his own. Sans didn’t exactly mean to wake **him** up: letting the old man become fully conscious of what’s happened to him and of his current situation is probably a bad idea all around, no matter how tempting it is. _it’ll all be over soon._

“Y—you just… you killed him,” the kid shakily says, something cold and numb audible in their voice. Abruptly remembering that, yeah, they’re still here, Sans glances at them askance. They quail back under the force of the old man’s magic burning in his eyesockets yet still refuse to back down, clenching their fists as they glare at him. “You murdered Dad i—in cold blood!”

Okay, wow. At that, he **has** to raise a metaphorical eyebrow at them. **Dad**? They seem oddly comfortable with calling a monster they’ve known for all of—what, an hour?—their **father** , especially given the fact that that same monster pitted the Underground against them and the rest of humanity and corrupted monsterkind into the vicious, deranged beasts they are now. This is the same man who murdered six human children just like them, who’s responsible for the deaths of so many monsters, who made that whole “kill or be killed” slogan that the human hates so much into a law, and they’re calling him dad and acting upset that he put that ~~**[miserable demon]**~~ out of its misery? It’s almost an act of **mercy** , what he’s done—and they’re all about showing mercy to those who don’t deserve it, aren’t they? Heh-heh.

Well, whatever. That’s not what matters now. All that matters is that the kid isn’t able to mess up things down here any further, and there’s, heh, only one way to ensure that they won’t. “go,” he demands harshly, the foreign magic leaving his eyesockets. Vaguely, Sans is aware of the flower’s vines squeezing him, crushing his bones, but he ignores it. The weed isn’t the important one here. He’ll take care of **it** later. “take that soul and use it to cross the barrier, or, heh…” All light drains from his eyes. “y o u ’ l l r e g r e t i t.”

Fear twisting their face, the human hesitates, jaw clenching as they stand their ground. Heh. Stupid kid. “N—no,” they say, “no, I can go back. I can reset. I can fix this. I want—”

Feeling rage burn bright in his eyes, Sans grinds his teeth, feral grin ever-wide. Reset, huh? Heh-heh-heh, is that their answer to **everything**? Going back doesn’t fix every mistake, doesn’t wipe everything clean. **He’ll** remember. He always does, and he always will. “unless you leave right now and never come back, i’ll kill e v e r y o n e,” the skeleton promises furiously, true sincerity in his voice for the first time in many, many years. He might not like sticking to his word, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep this promise. “i’ll make your life a living hell, and then i’ll destroy you.” Abruptly, his voice changes, becoming a half-familiar silky purr. “ ~~ **[It’ll be like you never existed.]**~~ ” (Crap, Sans really needs to make sure he stops waking **him** up.) “that is, unless you walk away right now, and never come back.”

“W—we’re not scared of you!” the weed stammers from his eyesocket, tone belying the confidence in its words. “Chara’s already beaten you once, and they can do it again if they have to!” Uncertainty thick in its voice, it pauses, its tiny mind seemingly racing. “Besides, I—I can still stop you if you try anything now!”

He chuckles, feeling the urge to ruefully shake his head. (Unfortunately, Petals doesn’t seem to feel particularly inclined to let him do that.) Heh, this brat sure can be an idiot, can’t they? “you sure did, sugar,” the skeleton allows condescendingly with a flash of a sharpened grin, glaring at the human. “but, uh, you really think you can save monsters faster than I can dust ‘em? even if you, uh, **undo** some things, I can still move a lot faster than you can, cupcake.” A leer. “and don’t be fooled. petals here is a flower, not a venus flytrap: i can get outta here, no problem. just don’t wanna waste the effort if i don’t have to.” Huh, wonder if a shortcut will do the trick. At the very least, Sans can use it to daze the weed enough so he can yank it off of himself. “besides, be honest: you barely got through that little squabble of ours by the skin of your teeth, didn’t you?” Tilting his head (despite the flower’s best efforts), he grins knowingly at the human, allowing the old man’s magic to flash in his gaze one last time. “how d’you think you’d do if i had **help**?”

It’s an empty threat, of course. The soul-splinter is, luckily, already fast asleep once more, and he wasn’t gonna risk waking **him** up any more than he already had: better not to let the old man drift into full consciousness on accident. That’d definitely be bad on the **both** of them. Best just to let that fragment stay like that—alive and dead, real and nonexistent—without opening **that** particular box. Knowing his luck, it’d probably turn out to be Pandora’s, not Schrödinger’s.

Still, the kid doesn’t know that. “I…”

Wide, empty smile pasted firmly in place, the skeleton stares pointedly at the king’s soul. Determination is still managing to keep it glued together for now, but it won’t last long. Soon, it’ll be dust—and, if the kid isn’t gone by that point, Sans is gonna make sure that everyone else down here ends up that way, too. “you’re on a time limit here, sugar. don’t have long now to make your choice.” A wink. “make sure it’s a good one.”

A beat. Two. Suddenly, the human’s expression changes. They no longer look like the same human he’d been threatening just a second ago: indeed, it looks like a different kid altogether—one whose face is completely blank, drained of all emotion—who surges quickly forwards, grabs the king’s soul, and lunges through the barrier. “ **Chara!** ” Flowey screams after them, going limp around Sans’s body, shock ringing true in its voice. “Chara, **no**! Don’t **leave** me here by myself again!”

Needless to say, Sans makes short work of getting the thing off of him: it’s too stunned to fight back. However, although he doesn’t take too long getting it off of himself, he **does** make sure to spend his sweet time making the weed suffer. Petals isn’t going to make the mistake of trying to touch him again, to **use** him again: heh, **that’s** for sure. **No one’s** going to do that to him **ever** again. He’ll make sure of **that**.

Course, after the flower’s been reduced to a pulpy, lifeless mess, he’s out of things to do. He knows it won’t be long before someone comes knocking and spots both him and a whole lotta dust where Fluffybuns should be, but where can he go? What else does he have left to do? He can’t go back to his old life, and there’s no reason for him to make a new one for himself. All he wants to do is give up, to fall down, but he can’t, because what if the human comes back? What if the kid decides that he wasn’t being serious about that threat of his and returns to the Underground and he can’t do anything to stop ‘em because he’s, y’know, dust? And it’s not like they’re the only human up there, either. What if some other poor sap falls down, as humans sure seem to like doin’? It’ll just take one more soul, and monsters will be free, and he can’t let that happen. They don’t deserve it, and humanity will be destroyed, and he can’t let monsters go up there and ruin a whole ‘nother world and he just **can’t** he can’t **he can’t** **let that happen** even though it’s not going to matter in the long run and there’s no reason for him to care but **he refuses to accept it he can’t let it happen he can’t he can’t he can’t** —

The room is small. And humid, and cold, and there’s an excessive amount of residual dog fur lining the place. Still, it’s secure: he has to teleport in order to even get in and out of the place, and there’re a lot of traps outside that the original owner of this place must have put outside in order to keep anyone from getting in, and there’s a computer in here that he uses to monitor the status of things in the Underground when he’s not sleeping. No humans come. The Queen returns. He trolls everyone on the UnderNet with puns and survives solely on mustard.

Sometimes, Sans even forgets how much he wants to die.

__

One day, a skeleton goes to sleep in a small, hidden room in Snowdin and wakes up in the Judgment Hall with a flower in his eye, and he nearly gives up on trying—on **everything** —because he’s so **tired** and everything is so **pointless** and he just wants everything to **end** already. But he can’t, he **can’t** , because artificial determination scorches his fractured bones every time he tries to give up and he’s carrying a dark piece of shrapnel from the shattered soul of a shattered old man with him that he knows he can’t disappoint, can’t forget, can’t drag down with him because it deserves **better** than that, better than him.

Truth be told, he doesn’t care about what happens to the surface, not really: no matter what he tells himself. And his lust for vengeance, while stronger than ever, isn’t enough to make the skeleton want to keep moving anymore, because he’s so tired that he can’t **stand** it anymore. It’s all the fault of that damned determination. It isn’t even his, and he doesn’t even want it, but it’s still there and he can’t just turn it off.

So he inhales. Exhales. Keeps going. Ignores that urge to give up and fall down.

The skeleton doesn’t do it because he wants to. He does it because he doesn’t have a choice anymore.

__

Sans decides that running around wildly and killing monsters at random is a terrible idea, even though it’s what he’d told the kid he was gonna do. There’s no way **that’ll** end up going to plan. What did the old man call that maxim of his? Murphy’s Law? He’d claimed that it was a human saying, but the skeleton’s honestly kinda skeptical about that. Judging by the way the kid acts, humans are way too trusting and optimistic to think that anything that can go wrong, will. It definitely sounds more like one of those unspoken laws of the Underground.

Besides, frankly, his original plan sounds like too much work: more than he can handle right now, definitely. The skeleton already feels like the slightest tap’ll dust him, so, y’know, he kinda doubts that he has enough energy to outlast a kid with enough determination to completely warp their timeline. All he really wants to do right now is take a nap and forget about all this. Just give up.

But he can’t. He has a favor to call in, after all.

Lucky for him, Alphys seems to be in a good mood. She agrees to call everyone for him with only minimal scorn and doesn’t even press for details or act suspicious about his motives, although he does catch some grumbling from her end about his being too lazy to bother to make his own phone calls. (Heh, yeah, like **that’s** why he needs her help.) After a minute of consideration, Sans decides that she’s probably being so trusting ‘cause she’s still feeling warm and fuzzy inside from that talk she had with the kid about trust or friendship or freakin’ rainbow unicorn stickers or **whatever** touchy-feely crap they decided to spout today. “thanks, al,” the skeleton murmurs softly to himself, making sure his words go unheard. After all, it wouldn’t do to let all those monsters running towards the barrier hear him.

Turns out that Alphys’s words musta spread further than he thought, though: he doesn’t recognize some of the people racing towards the barrier, and that’s pretty impressive, because he’s pretty sure he knows **everybody**. Smile flattening slightly in confusion as he raises a brow-bone, Sans glances down at his phone for a second, puzzled.

Wait, what? Stunned, he stares at the device in shock, expression frozen to his face. After a long moment, chuckles start escaping him despite his best efforts, because wow. Just… **wow**.  Well, that’s going to make this a lot easier. He has to question Al’s judgment, but, uh… he’s not complaining. Of course, this **does** mean that he’s a lot more pressed for time than he thought he was gonna be, so he goes ahead and takes a shortcut to the Throne Room so he can hide in the shadows and listen in on things. That way, he’ll know when to go ahead and jump in and get this show on the road.

The first voice he hears isn’t one he expects. That’s not to say he doesn’t recognize it, though. Sans would recognize that voice anywhere: he’s heard it countless times before, after all. Her laugh had helped lift him out of his darkness, sometimes, when he couldn’t stop thinking about the old man and Papyrus was being, uh, even worse than usual. Used to be that the sounds of her amusement—the gentle laughter, the pleased giggles, the surprised snorts—was what motivated him to get up in the morning, to suffer through the same day over and over again, to tolerate the hatred and insanity and horror in this place, because at least he’d known that, so long as he kept moving forwards, he’d get to keep hearing her laugh.

But it doesn’t matter if the lady has left the Ruins. That won’t stop him from doing what he has to do: nothing will. He has to do this, he has to, he has to, he **has** to and **nothing’s** gonna stop him, not even himself, **especially** not himself. He might be lazy and worthless and indecisive and **all** kinds of fucked in the head, but he’s not about to let that get in his way. Not this time.

“Pardon me, Doctor Alphys, but… although you did not call me here, you asked the others to come, did you not? How, exactly, did you know to do so?”

He’s going to kill everyone, even her.

“Oh, um, S—Sans actually came to the lab and tol—told me to. I still don’t know h—how he knew—”

All monsters are corrupted, anyway. Even her. Sans has heard the screams coming from the Ruins, knows about all the things she’s done to human children who’ve fallen down here. He made a promise. He made a promise, and it’s actually one he wants to keep, **has** to keep. No turning back now.

“YOU SAW MY BROTHER?” Instantly, the skeleton flinches back against the wall at the sound of his brother’s voice, because oh, god, he hadn’t thought about him. He’s going to have to see him, isn’t he? “DID HE LOOK OKAY? WAS HE HURT?” How the hell is he going to kill Papyrus? Sans wants him dead **so** much, has wanted for **so long** to just blast him into dust while his back was turned (and it’s nothing he doesn’t **deserve** , the bastard), but he **can’t** hurt him. “I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR HIM EVERYWHERE!” Because, every time he almost does it, he doesn’t see Papyrus: he sees a small, shivering skeleton wearing a hand-knit scarf, looking up at him with wide, trusting (yet afraid, oh so afraid) eyes and a wavering, innocent smile, telling him that he believes in him and Sans just **can’t** bring himself to do that to him, even if that’s not really him anymore. “I’VE BEEN SO WOR—”

No, no, no, he’s heard enough of **that**. Quickly, before Papyrus can say anything else (because he’s lying, lying, **lying** : he doesn’t care about Sans, he **doesn’t** , and Sans **can’t** let himself be stupid enough to let himself get tricked into caring about him again, because that’s always been his greatest weakness and it’s **killing** him), he takes a shortcut, finds himself surrounded by familiar faces.

Well, mostly familiar faces. For a second, all he can think about as he stares at the lady is the color of her eyes, because are they purple? Brown? Red? Sans isn’t sure. Still, for one long moment, he allows himself to stare at her for the first (and last) time, memorizing her face, her expression, the curve of her smile.

She’s beautiful.

With a wave of the hand and a flash of magic, everyone’s souls are glowing blue: Fluffybuns, Captain Undyne, Al, Lady, Kid, and Papyrus are all thrown to the wall. Course, Petals is dragged along with the human, too, screeching as it goes. He hears shouts of confusion, anger, and shock, along with an impressive number of obscenities (and he’s gotta admit, Undyne is a lot more creative than he’d thought she was), but the skeleton ignores all that. Instead, he turns, eyes instantly locking onto what he needs: the six cracked, trembling, abused-looking human souls that the king’d accidentally left out in the open. “heh, i gotta say, al,” Sans says, voice somehow carrying over the enraged screams and shocked shouts of the trapped assemblage, “you sure messed up bigtime.” A wink. “i mean, c’mon. not only did you actually trust me, but you also posted this on social media when i didn’t even **ask** you to?” Almost ruefully, the skeleton shakes his head, listening to the sound of countless feet (and, uh, various other limbs or appendages) pounding against the floor in the distance. Seems like more monsters are on the way here. “heh-heh-heh. that’s, uh, one **hell** of a mistake you made there. then again, you’re pretty good at those, aren’t cha?”

Originally, he was just gonna lure the human and all the strongest monsters he knew—the biggest threats—into this handy-dandy little trap, absorb the six human souls, and kill them in one go while his blue magic had ‘em stuck there. And yeah, the kid’s determination would have kinda been an issue with that before—except, now, he has access to the six souls. Somehow, he doubts that the human contains more of it than both him and the souls of six other kids who’d died young, in agony, alone, afraid. Six souls who’ve had nothing to do for years and years and years but linger, trapped and in pain. Six spirits who might have, oh, developed an unhealthy obsession with getting revenge on their murderers, maybe? Or that’s his theory, anyway. Still, if he’s right and those souls have been as corrupted as he’s thinking, they’re bound to be very, **very** determined: determined enough to give him power over the timeline. Kid won’t be able to reset—or do a thing to stop him, really. And that’s not all. Lucky for him, Alphys went above and beyond by letting **everyone** know to come here. Now all the monsters are on their way here.

Heh. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.

Except, uh, it turns out that the souls have another idea. Sure, when he releases them, they seem cooperative enough: the six flock eagerly to him, giddily whirling around him as he ignores the shouts coming from behind him, ignores the human and his brother’s attempts to get his attention, because he’s not going to forgive anyone (not even Papyrus, **especially** not Papyrus) and he’s too far gone to be forgiven.

And then the souls keep spinning. And spinning, and spinning, faster and faster and faster until he can’t see anything anymore, and Sans can’t speak or breathe or think and the old man’s soul-shard is sending crackling waves of magic through his own and he feels like he’s **drowning** under the weight of it all and he—

He…

He remembers everything. Suddenly, the half-remembered, dreamy knowledge that’s been dancing around the edges of his consciousness just out of reach for **so long** has finally come surging from the old man’s soul to his, flooding his mind. The skeleton’s no longer standing next to the barrier, either. No, now he’s back in Snowdin: a brighter, purer Snowdin, where the snow isn’t painted black or grey with sludge or dust.

Soft, shaky breathing is coming from behind him. Heh, well, he sure recognizes this. Sure enough, when he turns around, the human is standing there in front of a gate, the bars of which are free of spikes and spread too far apart to keep anyone—probably even Asgore—from entering. Everything about this is so, **so** familiar. He’s done this so many times before… except this time, the kid looks a hell of a lot more confused than they ever have. Staring at their gobsmacked expression, Sans can’t help but chuckle at the look on their face, feeling oddly calm. What, did they forget how this whole song and dance goes already? They’ve done this **way** too many times for that. “ **c’mon, frisk,** ” the skeleton hears himself say (and he doesn’t know who “Frisk” is, doesn’t know why he said that name, but somehow it seems to fit them better than “Chara” ever has). “ **work with me here, bucko. don’t you remember how to greet an old pal?** ”

__

The comedian hasn’t undergone as dramatic a transformation as I’d thought he would have. Before, when… when Azzy absorbed my soul—just one human soul—he’d changed so much. The skeleton, on the other hand, had taken six, but looks almost exactly the same. For sure, he’s wearing a different hoodie, a blue one. Plus, he looks… healthier, too, as all those cracks that were splayed across his skull and body are gone, and those dark circles under his eyes are far less obvious, and his smile doesn’t look anywhere near as unhinged, and he, well, has both eyes. Still, aside from that, he looks about the same as—

Oh.

Yeah, that seems more like it. Skeletal wings and one eye glowing with all the colors of the rainbow are more what I expected out of this transformation of his. Asriel probably would have found this to be the coolest thing he’d ever seen, wouldn’t he have? Haha. Well, he’s gone now. I keep forgetting that. And I’m completely alone, too. Everyone else disappeared when those souls pulled that trick and absorbed everyone. Even Flowey, who’d been clinging to my arm, isn’t here. Hm, I must have been spared merely because I’m a human, and human souls cannot absorb other human souls. So now it’s up to me to stop him. To save him. To fix this universe. To break the barrier and set monsters free as I promised.

To stay determined.

*SANS SERAPHIM. ATK INFINITY, DEF 1.

*Doesn’t forgive and doesn’t forget.

*You’re hoping he kills me.

Suddenly, the comedian’s expression changes, his right eye turns red, and his voice returns to the lower, brusquer tone it normally has. “this is all your fault,” he tells me, smile contorted into a gritted, emotionless grimace, an accusation in his eyes. ”you know that, right?” Suddenly, his eye flickers back to white. “ **heh. ‘cept you’re not that kid, are you? you’re not my kid. nah.”** Sans raises a hand: seven of his strange, skull-like blasters materialize, the eyes of each blazing with a different color of the rainbow. “you’re no angel. **you’re that demon.** ”

Ah. Quickly, I fall to my knees, allowing the blasts of multihued magic to soar harmlessly over my head, then spring agilely up and dodge the other attacks. Magic buzzes in the air, so thick I can taste it, but I ignore it, choosing instead to focus on him. “Comedian?” I call, wincing slightly. My throat—this body’s throat—is beyond sore. Seems like it’s almost been rubbed raw from speaking. Do they **never** talk? “Why is your voice changing like that?” I understand every other change he’s undergone, but not that. Unless the human souls are speaking through him, there’s no reason for this to be happening, but why would they be speaking of me like this? Why would they call me a… **demon**? I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve been described as such, but it’s—it’s too specific. They wouldn’t know about that, **shouldn’t** know about that. No one should.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to hear me. “heh, ‘sides, even if you were, they wouldn’t deserve your mercy,” Sans states, eyes hard and empty. One of the skull-blasters—the one with icy blue eyes—surges forward, snapping at me. With a ping, a cyan soul appears in front of it: instantly, the blaster lets loose an unholy roar, its form painfully twisting and stretching and changing, until it’s no longer what it was a moment ago. Instead, a white, human-shaped figure with pale blue eyes is standing there, staring at me, twisting a toy knife around in its pale, dusty fingers. “ **and hey, think about it,** ” he continues blithely as I stare at the pale form. **“you didn’t show anyone mercy. so why exactly should i give it to you, huh?”** Bitterly, the comedian grins. “ **heh, i’m usually a pretty easy-going guy, but, uh… i’m gonna be about as merciful to you as you were to me.** ” His right pupil disappears: his left remains blazing, although it changes from rainbow to as blue as those of the soul standing before me. “ **i’m not gonna give you the mercy of a permanent death either, demon.** ”

As if on cue, the soul flings itself forwards, pointing its ominously-glowing plastic knife directly at me. “I waited too long, and now there’s nothing I can do,” it whispers softly, right before the dusty toy blasts at me with magic. As soon as I dodge, a sea of knives materializes in midair, swinging and swishing in a rhythmic pattern, forcing me to move in a twisted sort of dance. One of them manages to graze my cheek, taking my HP from twenty to fifteen.

As soon as the attack is over and the soul reforms into a blaster, I take a moment to breathe and process all this. These are corrupted human souls—tch, like **all** humans aren’t corrupted—who’ve probably managed to hijack Sans’s mind as well. Of course. I knew this all had to be the fault of humanity **somehow**.

No matter. I clench my eyes shut for a moment, taking a second to think—to concentrate my determination, to keep holding on, to hope that everything can be fixed—before reopening my eyes. My HP is back to normal, although my cheek still stings a little. “Listen to me, comedian,” I demand, eyes narrowing. “I’ve shown everyone down here mercy. You know this!” I grit my teeth. “I know the human souls are influencing your mind. They must think that I am their murderers. Fight back against them, not me!”

Still no response. I don’t think he even can hear me, or anything else. “you shoulda listened to me, cupcake,” the skeleton remarks ruefully, shaking his head. “i told you that it was kill or be killed down here, didn’t i? but you didn’t listen. heh-heh- **heh, did you even consider sparing them? any of them?** ” Angrily, he glares at me. “ **really, what did you gain by doing what you did? was it power? lv? or somethin’ else entirely? heh. you’re really kind of a freak, huh?** ” With the wave of a hand, another blaster—orange, this time—is transforming, becoming human-like in appearance. “you know what, though? it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I was so stupid and rash that I didn’t stand a chance down here,” the soul hisses, tone laced with acrid regret. In the blink of an eye, it curls its gloved hands into fists, lunging forwards in an attempt to punch my soul. After I dodge all of its attacks, it growls furiously, anger clear in its voice, then disappears. That’s two down: five more to go, I’m guessing.

Another blaster surges forwards, shifting from skull to human as it goes. It’s the dark blue one this time. “ **you remember my spiel about the timelines, right?** ” Sans asks. It sounds like a rhetorical question. Is he talking about the thing with the “timelines” being destroyed, or whatever? Hm. I don’t think he ever explained how he knew about that. He must have been a scientist, right? But Doctor Alphys didn’t mention him. But… wait, if this is the humans talking through Sans, then how does this apply to them? This doesn’t make any sense. “ **about everything ending? about it being y o u r f a u l t ? heh, i sure hope so. you’ve heard it often enough, after all.** ”

What does that even **mean**? Frowning, I clench my hands into fists, about to ask what he’s talking about, but am interrupted by the third soul. Is this one supposed to be some kind of ballerina? “I was so sure that I was right that it made me blind to who they really were,” it proclaims emotionlessly. Suddenly, gracefully, it pirouettes, tutu swirling around itself, before lunging forwards in an attempt to kick me in the face. This one, unfortunately, manages to land a few hits before it reforms into a blaster. Still, though I’m down on HP, I’m not out of the running. Not by a long shot. As hope floods my body, my HP goes up in turn. It’s not quite enough to get me back to 20 HP, though.

A grin. “i thought for the longest time that you were gonna be the one that destroyed the timelines,” the skeleton reminds me. “it made sense, after all. if everything ends, it’s at about this point in the timeline. but then it wasn’t, and i was so confused. who else could it have been, right?”

“I knew what they could do,” the purple soul whispers, words forming in the air around them. Death. Destruction. Horror. Fear. Lies. Agony. Hopeless. Meaningless. “And I tried to hold out against them, but in the end, I was too weak.” With that, the words are flying towards me, buzzing in my ears, bombarding my soul. I dodge them the best I can, trying desperately to tune it out, but I end up back at 10 HP before I know it.

I tire of this. “I don’t want to fight you, Sans,” I shout, trying in vain to get him to listen to me, to hear me. “Listen to me! I don’t know what your brother did to you, but he regrets it! Can’t you tell? He’s been trying to fix things, but you haven’t even given him a chance!” If I had the chance to apologize to Asriel… “Family is too important to shut out like this! And maybe if you talked to him, you’d see that monsters can change!”

Still nothing. He really can’t hear me, huh? “ **well, uh, i’ve decided that, now that I have the chance to stop ya, you’re not gonna get to do that anymore,** ” Sans says instead. “ **to kill anyone else. to destroy any more timelines. nah, you’re just gonna be stuck here. fighting me. forever.** ”

Why doesn’t he know that I haven’t killed anyone? How does someone even **destroy** a **timeline**? That doesn’t make any sense! “I don’t understand you, comedian!” I screech in annoyance, instantly wincing and clutching at my throat. Ouch.

Well, now the green soul is here. I don’t like the look of that frying pan, either. “I wanted so badly to trust them, to think that they could change,” it whispers, sounding heartbroken, “and they took advantage of it.” Shifting in place, it adjusts its grip on the pan, looking like it’s about to flip a pancake. “Of me.” Instead of a pancake, though, fried eggs come out—a lot of them—and soar towards me. I manage to dodge all of these, though.

“except now i get it,” the skeleton casually comments. “it’s me. “ Chuckling, he drags a hand over his skull. “it’s always been me, hasn’t it? everything was always leading up to here and now. heh-heh.”

“This is all their fault,” the last soul hisses, vengeful fury glowing in its yellow eyes as it aims its gun at me, “and I knew that, and I did everything I could to make them pay for it, but I couldn’t do enough.” A wordless shout: it starts firing away. “This isn’t right. This isn’t fair!”

After the spray of bullets turns into a trickle and the soul turns back into a blaster, he straightens, wings flaring and sparking with color. As one, the two voices coming from Sans’s mouth speak, words overlapping one another. “ **i’m gonna save the timeline.** i’m gonna destroy the timeline.”

I’m so confused.

Wait a second. The blasters were supposed to be the six souls, right? That’s why they transformed and became human-shaped like that, right? So… why are there **seven** of them? Six of them are human, for sure, but what is this one supposed to be? And why are its eyes pitch-black like that?

Sure enough, the final blaster moves forwards, empty eyes fixed on me. Unlike the others, though, it doesn’t transform. Instead, its mouth glows with dark, sparking power, and then anything—everything—is suddenly being pulled towards it, including me.  Ngh, no, I’m not going to give up. I’m not going to let it take me; I’m not going to let it **stop** me, let it slow me down. I’m going to fix this! I strain away from it, soul throbbing with determination. Sure enough, as quickly as it came, it stops, and I’m still here. “tch,” Sans grumbles, eyes seeming to truly focus on me for the first time all battle. “you’re a stubborn brat, that’s for sure. why even try? you’ll never see ‘em again. just give up. i did.”

Wait, what was that?

No, no, not him. What did **you** say just then? Don’t pretend you didn’t say anything, partner. I heard you. I heard what you said. And you’re right. I do feel something familiar resonating from that last blaster. Haha, you know what? I think I know whose soul—well, souls—is inside that thing, after all. I might not be able to save where I am, since he has control over the timeline, but maybe, just maybe, I can save something else. Some lost souls, perhaps?

And I do. Alphys, Undyne, Papyrus, Mom, Dad, Flowey… They all appear. And, although what Flowey says makes no sense, I save them all.

Wait. No. Someone else is there. There’s one last person to save. No, two. But who…

I reach out to one of the souls. ~~**[No, child,]**~~ it says softly in return. ~~**[Your sentiments are noble. But we cannot be saved.]**~~ I try again. This seems to anger it: its voice harshens. ~~**[Listen to me, Chara Dreemurr. Monsters are too far gone for redemption, all of us. We do not deserve your pity, your mercy. We do not deserve anything. If anyone can testify to how monsters will use and betray you, it is the pair of us. You have no idea how we have suffered.]**~~ It goes silent for a moment. ~~**[Leave us be.]**~~

Hmph. Fine then. I stop trying to save that soul for the moment, reaching out to the other instead. Perhaps the former will be more reasonable after it sees that the latter can be saved. “kid, whaddya think you’re doing?” the comedian snaps, something exhausted in his voice. “give it up already. **give up the act, demon. you’re not fooling anybody, least of all me. not after what you did.** ” Abruptly, he trades his fatigue for fury. “ **you killed e v e r y o n e. more than once, too: you destroyed the world so many times.** ” Currently, his grin seems to be more of a manic smirk than anything else. “ **and now, for the umpteenth time, you come back to the hall and you pretend like, what? it never happened? like you’re saving me?** news flash, human. you can’t do it. spare me, that is. **”**

The hall? Momentarily, I place my outrage over the fact that he thinks I killed people aside. “Comedian, look around you!” I stress impatiently, gesturing pointedly at our surroundings. “Look at where you are right now! I don’t know what you’re seeing right now, but…” Clenching my fists, I hesitate. “Sans, I’m not whoever you think I am. You’re seeing another place, and another person, as well. The souls have blinded you! I’ve never hurt anyone.” What can I say to convince him? “If you don’t believe me, look at my LV!”

“oh, trust me, sugar,” the skeleton sneers. “i’m seein’ everything crystal clear. how about—” Suddenly, his expression shifts: the other voice seems to interrupt him. “ **what are you talking about? no, you’re lying. you…** ” He abruptly stops staring at me, instead staring at our surroundings—at the black void we’re standing in—like he’s never seen it before. “ **how’d i get here?** how about you just give up?” Seemingly shocked, Sans touches where, if he were a human, his throat would be. “ **i. uh. didn’t say that.** ”

Confused, I frown: I’d thought that that voice belonged to the humans that were using him as a sort of mouthpiece. Still, so long as **someone’s** listening to reason, I suppose. “Look at my LV, Sans!” I repeat stubbornly. Instantly, his gaze snaps to me. “You think I’m some murderer? Some…” Face scrunching, I force the word from my lips. “D—demon? Well, look at my LV. If I am who you think I am and I’ve killed people, it has to be really high, right? But it’s not!” Secure in my logic, I cross my arms. “It’s at one, like it’s always been!”

He looks confused and somewhat annoyed. “the hell are you talking about, kid?” the comedian demands. “i know you ain’t got the, heh, guts to kill.” Phalanges click together as the skeleton snaps his fingers: bones materialize in a circle around me. “in fact, give me a minute here, and you won’t have any guts at all— **no, quit it.** ” With that, the magic attacks that Sans had summoned disappear promptly. “ **your lv is at one. and you coulda reset, sure, but, uh, something tells me you aren’t the demon. i think there’s been, heh, a mixup.** ” A crooked grin on his face, he knocks the tips of two bony fingers against his head: an odd clanking noise grates against my ears as a result. “ **a lot of the memories rattling around this numb-skull can’t help but make me think… this isn’t my world, is it? i’m in the head of some other sans-ational skeleton.** ”

My brow crumples. “What?”

“ **eh, don’t worry about it.** ” With a sudden snap, the skeletal wings disappear into nothingness, and his eyes fade, becoming a plain, uncracked white. “ **sorry ‘bout all this, kid. but, uh, listen. i’m not gonna be able to control what he does for long.** ” His grin widens. “ **and there’s something that i should probably do first.** ”

__

He left, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone.

Sure enough, after convincing everyone that there’s something I urgently need to do before leaving the Underground, I find him all the way at the beginning: back where it had all begun, both this time and the first. Beside the comedian sits a pile of unopened bottles of what appear to be mustard and various alcoholic beverages; in his hands is a container of ketchup. Hm. The owner of the new voice, the one who I’d originally thought belonged to the human souls, is probably still in control, if the state of his eyesockets—both containing white pupils—is anything to go by. He’s still wearing that blue hoodie, too, not his usual black one.

As I sit beside him, Sans leans back against the wall. “ **heya, kiddo. fancy seeing you around, huh? you’re a long ways from the throne room.** ” Casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he takes a swig of the condiment he holds. Instinctively, my face scrunches up. Did he really just drink pure ketchup? “ **don’t knock it ‘till you try it,** ” he says in response to my facial expression, shrugging carelessly. “ **might be an acquired taste, sure, but s’pretty good once you get used to how strong it is.** ” He swallows another mouthful of the stuff. “ **as for where i got all this… well, grillbz can put it on my tab.** ” Expression darkening slightly, the skeleton stares out into space for a moment. “ **heh, let’s just say that, once other-me comes to, he’s, uh, gonna need all this.** ” Yet another gulp of ketchup: how can he stand to keep drinking the stuff? It’s going to make him sick! “ **he’s going to have a nasty shock to deal with, an’ something tells me that he’s gonna be down here for a while.** ”

That doesn’t make any sense. Still, I decide to start from the beginning and work my way up from there. “You said you were from another world, did you not?” I repeat, watching him thoughtfully eye his bottle of ketchup and seemingly decide against another sip. “What did you mean? And how—” Vaguely, I wave my arms at him. “How are you here? And in the comedian’s head, no less?”

At this, he grins, a chuckle escaping him. “ **not exactly sure about how i got here, kid,** ” the skeleton admits freely, “ **but, uh, where i’m from, things are a… bit different.** ” His smile twists a little. “ **judging what other-me remembers, this is a pretty, heh… as some people might put it, ‘kill-or-be-killed’ type of place, right?** ” His voice returns to its original lighthearted blitheness once more. “ **anywho, generally pretty edgy: edgier than my timeline is, heh-heh. if you hadn’t gathered, by the way, i’m sans. sans the skeleton. just, uh, not the one you know. a different version, i guess you’d say.** ” A shrug. “ **something musta pulled me here on accident when your sans absorbed the souls.** ” The comedian’s eyes seem purposefully blank. Is he hiding something? “ **doesn’t, uh, really matter what. or… who. it was probably an accident. either way, i’ll end up snapping back to my own world once the last of this power drains. everything’ll be back to normal. heck, i probably won’t even remember any of this.** ”

Hm. Somehow, I think he knows more than he’s letting on, but I accept his words regardless. “I see,” I say, hesitating slightly. What should I ask about next? “Your world. You say it’s not kill-or-be-killed there. Why?” Suddenly stricken by energy, by a thirst for knowledge, I surge forward and latch onto his arm, pleadingly staring up at him. “There must have been some difference, right? Something must have gone wrong here that made monsters become unhappy: something I can reverse, or fix, or something I can use! Most monsters have changed, but some of them still aren’t the same!” Like Sans, actually. “Was it…” Swallowing back my guilt, I continue. “Was it me? Was it because of what I… I **did**? I’m sorry. I just—I wanted them to be happy! I wished to free everyone, not t—to cause **this**!”

Seeming unshaken by my emotion, Sans closes his eyes, skull clunking mutedly against the wall. “ **wasn’t you, bucko,** ” he states simply, sounding drained. “ **i mean, it kinda was? i think you did the same thing in my timeline, though. if you’re talking about the whole, uh, prince situation.** ” Half-opening an eyesocket, the skeleton peers at me. “ **it’s just that, uh, where i’m from, after that happened, the king got mad at humans and decided to kill the ones who fell an’ all. use the souls to break the barrier, y’know. but here…** ” The ketchup returns to his mouth… or his teeth, I suppose? “ **here, i think he blamed everyone. decided everything was gonna change. made things kill-or-be-killed for monsters, not just humans. that’s the point where everything went wrong. so, uh, there wasn’t exactly anything you coulda done, kid.** ”

Haha, well, **that’s** not true! All I had to do was not come up with that **stupid** plan, and everything would have been **fine**. Still, there’s nothing I can do about it now, so I decide not to express my thoughts to this Sans of another world. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and look down at the ground, trying to figure out what to ask next.

“ **look, I know why you’re hangin’ around,** ” the comedian unexpectedly states, glancing over at me with something between amusement and accusation in his gaze. “ **you wanna save me an’ him, but you can’t, okay? soon, i’ll be gone, and he’ll be here instead. and, uh, trust me on this one. if you take him up to the surface?** ” A chuckle. “ **you are** not **gonna like what happens next. i mean, he can’t really kill his papyrus, but that won’t keep him from killing anyone else, or doin’ anything else to mess things up for ya. best thing for you and for him is for you to leave him alone down here and make sure no one goes after him.** ” Carelessly, he jerks his thumb at the pile of condiments and alcohol. “ **that’s, uh, why i left him this. somethin’ tells me he’s gonna have, heh, a** bad time **down here.** ” Seemingly noticing the look on my face, the other Sans rushes to reassure me. “ **but hey: it’s better than him going to the surface. trust me. since i’m in his head right now, i kinda know just about everything there is to know about him, and, uh, with his particular set of issues, he’d hate it up there.** ”

“Okay,” I say.

I don’t realize I’m crying until the skeleton glances at me with concern, brushing a tear off my cheek with his bony thumb. “ **c’mon, kid. no tears, okay? you’re gonna be happy up there with them. you get to have a family, remember?** ”

“I just—I don’t **understand**.” My voice cracks. “Why can’t I spare him? I—if he just listened to me, he could be happy up there with us. I tried so hard, and I thought I did everything right, but…” Acutely aware of the pitch-black tears streaming down my cheeks and staining my clothes, I put my hands over my eyes, embarrassed. “But he just didn’t let me help him.” Suddenly, a thought occurs to me: uncovering my eyes, I stare desperately up at him. “What did I do wrong?”

“ **you didn’t do anything wrong,** ” Sans says wearily. “ **you couldn’t have done anything to help him.** ” A laconic grin twists his face: he seems to be finding something amusing. “ **some people just can’t be saved, kiddo. spare ‘em, and they use it as a chance to stab you in the back. with those people, you gotta learn when to** quit **.** ” There’s bitterness, **regret** , in his voice.

Stubbornly, I shake my head. “No,” I state firmly. “I refuse to believe that. I just—” No, there’s no time for arguing. I need to know how to save my Sans. “What made him like this?” I grit my teeth. “It’s because of Papyrus, right? He’s the reason that Sans is like this. What did he…” My voice fails, but, this time, I can’t blame it on this body.

The skeleton heaves a sigh. “ **look, kid. papyrus—** my **papyrus—wouldn’t hurt a fly. but, uh, his?** ” Another swig of ketchup. “ **let’s just say there was a reason he got pissed when you** didn’t **kill papyrus. capiche?** ”

No, that’s not enough. I need to know more. I need to know why! But… if the other Sans’s expression is anything to go by, I’m not getting any more information out of him. **Why** , though? It couldn’t have been **that** bad, right? Sure, Papyrus had been scary, and kind of mean to Sans, but it’d been pretty clear to me that he didn’t actually **want** to be. He’d just been trying to survive, to fit into the corrupted, twisted world that the Underground had become. That’s why he’d been so mean, and why he’d tried to become the Captain of the Royal Guard: just so he could be safe and so people would like him! And after I’d gotten through to him, he’d done **nothing** but look for Sans so he could apologize to him about how he’d treated him!

And yet… how bad had it **really** been, if Papyrus had felt the need to search so frantically for his brother, if he’d been so **desperate** to apologize? If it’d really just been insults, then surely he wouldn’t have been **that** worried. And how far had Sans really been pushed that he’d been upset when I **hadn’t** killed his **family**? Plus, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s something that he had said, back in Snowdin. Papyrus had said something about how he was protecting Sans, and the comedian had gone almost into hysterics over it, calling it the best joke he’d heard. I hadn’t thought too much of it then, but now…

“ **you should go, y’know,** ” the skeleton says casually, breaking the silence. “ **i dunno when he’ll come to, but, uh, something tells me he’s not gonna be all that happy when he does.** ” A sharp-toothed grin. “ **an’ if he sees you, he might decide to prove that third time’s a charm on that whole killing you thing. i’d get outta here before that happens, if i were you.** ” Casually, he shrugs. “ **but hey. up to you, i guess.** ”

I… There has to be **something** I can do to save him.

And later, I’ll come back, and I’ll do whatever I can to fix things. But, for now, I should leave. The other Sans is right: when the comedian returns, he’s going to be furious. If I’m here when that happens, he’s just going to get angrier at me. So I’ll wait. That way, he’ll have time to calm down and to think things over on his own. Then, I’ll come back, and I’ll **make** him see reason. I’ll get through to him if it’s the last thing I do.

It’s the least I can do, isn’t it? Honestly, the comedian reminds me of myself. And, while I refuse to let him repeat my mistakes, I suppose I can understand his needing time to think. “Okay,” I accept (for the moment, anyway), rising to my feet and turning away. “I will. And thank you.” And, with that, I walk away, the hollow laughter of the comedian following in my wake.

“ **good luck… chara.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “They whisper fervently into his kneecaps” is, by far, the best thing I’ve ever written. I’m really proud of it.


	2. feelin' frisk-y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk gets control.  
> Chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering how Frisk regains control of their body, consider checking out the first part of Another Ending. Things still make sense without it, but it might explain a few things.

~~**[Sire, I’m afraid I must protest.]** ~~

~~**Golly, I’m afraid that you must not.** ~~

~~**[Listen to me! You are being irrational. I’m so, so sorry for your losses, my King, but you cannot take your grief out on your people—]** ~~

~~**DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CANNOT DO!** ~~

~~**_ksccch  
_ ** ~~

~~**_thud_ ** ~~

~~**A fall.** ~~

__

He’d fallen down.

Run outta HoPe. Become food for dust bunnies. Kicked the bucket. Any way you slice it or sugarcoat it, the fact still remains that he’d most definitely died.

Sans’s determination had been the first thing to give out. The whole, uh, running around in an attempt to destroy the timeline thing had taken a huge toll on his store of the stuff: he’d been burning through it pretty quickly during **that** little escapade. When the barrier had been broken, and he’d realized that there was nothing else he could do to stop monsters from leaving the Underground, the last of the artificial determination had drained from his soul pretty quickly—and, uh, seeing as he’d been broken for years and it’d been the only thing that been keeping the pieces of him stuck together during all that time, that hadn’t **exactly** been great on his body. So the skeleton had done what he did best. He’d given up. Resigned himself to sitting back and watching as his HP, which normally hovers at 0.4 or so nowadays, had ticked from 0.3 to 0.25 to 0.18 to 0.06 to 0.01.  Eventually, that last fraction of HoPe, too, had wavered, and then he’d been dust.

A slow, agonizing death, his body crumbling to bits: Sans remembers it all. And yet, despite that, here he is. Alive. Lying on a familiar bed in a familiar room, staring blankly up at the ceiling, half-daring to hope that all of this is, somehow, all just a bad dream. Of course, he knows that can’t be true. The dead don’t dream: heh, he knows **that** one from experience. This is real. For better or for worse (and it’s almost definitely that second thing), he’s alive again.

Suddenly, it occurs to him, and everything instantly clicks into place. Oh. Heh. Well, that’s the obvious answer, isn’t it? “a reset,” he mutters to himself. That’s it: it’s gotta be. Kid must’ve gotten bored with it all and decided to take a merry little stroll down memory lane. Or maybe something’d gone wrong up on the surface, and the human had panicked and completely erased everything they’d accomplished down here, just so they could try it all over again and try to patch things up. Didn’t really matter either way: things were still back to square one. “heh-heh-heh.” **Course** it was a reset. Why wouldn’t it be? Shoulda been the first thing he’d thought of when he’d woken up back in Snowdin with memories of death and the nothingness that followed. It wasn’t like it was the **first** time that’d happened, after all.

“hah...” God, he’s so tired.

He’s so **tired** , and he’s gonna have to go through **all** of it **all** over again. Meet the kid, try to convince them to kill monsters and fail, watch them befriend Papyrus so **effortlessly** where he’s failed time and time again, try to end them in the Judgment Hall and fail, have the weed latch onto him, try to destroy the universe and **fail** just because some goody-two-shoes other version of him feels the need to fuck things up, stay in the underground and wait for his determination to fail… and for what? To have the kid decide to reset all over again?  What’s the **point** of it? He can’t do this. He can’t **keep** doing this. The weed had been bad enough about this, and it’d just been loading and resetting so it could both not kill and not be killed (most of the time, with a few notable exceptions). That was kind of understandable, but this? This is ~~**[irrational]**~~ , and it’s **torture**.

All he wants to do stay here in bed and wait for the end to come. Heh. If he just stays here, keeps lying here on his bed and doesn’t move an inch, how will he die? Will Papyrus notice that he isn’t getting up—doesn’t plan to ever get up again—and end up blowing a gasket over it and killing him in a fit of rage? Or maybe his **bro** just won’t care. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll forget about Sans, give up on him, let him lie here, let him fall down again. It’s not like Papyrus actually **cares** about what happens to him, right? He’s not stupid enough to believe **that** garbage.

Welp, whatever. It’s not like it matters. Even though he doesn’t want to, he still has to get up, has to play the part he’d played before. After all, the determination that’d been a part of him at this point in the timeline is back with him now, and, just like last time, it’s already tugging back at him, nagging at him, telling to get up, to stop the kid, to change things, because he knows what happened last time so **maybe** **m a _y_** _be he c an d_O s **o** _m_ **e** _t hin_g _stO **P** **TH em** **DEs**_ tr _o_ y ** eVerYTHIng _yo_** _u_ hAVE ** _t_** ** _o you HAVE to YOU HAVE TO_**—

Wincing at how deeply the determination is digging into his soul, the skeleton dutifully throws off the moth-eaten, moldy old blanket that covers him and flops out of bed. For a second, he stares at the mustard-stained floor. Maybe he can just lie down there and forget about this whole kill the kid and end the timeline thing? His whole plan’s kind of ridiculous anyway: stereotypical supervillain behavior. Come on, who **seriously** plots to destroy the entire freakin’ universe? Sure, the thought of everything finally stopping, of finally being able to get revenge on monsters and of, better yet, being able to just **sleep** without having to worry about any more resets waking him up is oh-so-tempting: it really is. But it’s still kinda overdramatic. Plus, it’s not like it’s going to **work**. After all, it didn’t work the first time, and what do they call doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, again?

Heh. What they **should** call it is his entire friggin’ life. (Then again, it’s not like the word that people actually use is that far off.)

Unfortunately for him, he can’t give up that little plan of his. As soon as he starts considering it, his soul is pulsing painfully once more, instantly making a decision for him. “god, i hate al,” he mutters to himself, running a hand over his cracked skull as his face scrunches up with pain and annoyance. This is all **her** fault. How incompetent **is** she? God, why hasn’t Asgore dusted her yet? It’s not like it’d be the **first** time he—

Nope. He’s not gonna think about that.

Well, looks like it’s time to get things rolling. With a groan, he stumbles out of the room, phalanges fumbling with the rusty doorknob for a moment before managing to turn the thing, and closes the door behind him. Eyes flaring with magic, Sans takes a moment to throw up some shields on his room: a rainbow shimmer flickers over the door. Satisfied, he allows himself a small smirk. They’d been useful enough last time, after all, so it can’t hurt to put them back up now, right? That’s what he figures, anyhow.

“ **SANS**!” he hears Papyrus shout loudly, thudding footsteps rattling the house. Instantly, he stiffens, freezing in place. “GET OUT HERE **THIS INSTANT**!”  Oh, geez. He remembers this. The other skeleton had been **pissed** at him the morning that the human showed up. Heh, he doesn’t even remember why. Probably something **real** stupid: just another one of the things Papyrus used as an **excuse** to take out his emotions on him. Yeah, uh… heh, he isn’t exactly in the mood to deal with **this** shit today. Not again. So, instead of obeying his brother’s commands like some kinda naïve, spineless sap (even though some primal, quivering part of him instinctively wants to obey his brother despite what Papyrus’s summons mean for him), the skeleton straightens, eyes darkening, and takes a shortcut to his sentry station. As an afterthought, he bends down and grabs a bottle of mustard from behind the station, taking a swig as he walks towards the gate. It burns on the way down, but that’s fine. That’s fine. It’s all fine. Everything’s gonna be **fine**.

The kid shows up eventually: a bit earlier than usual, actually, with almost no resets. Heh, well, he guesses they gotta be used to this whole song and dance by now, right? Kid probably remembers the things they need to say and do to charm their way into everyone’s hearts and make everything sunshine and candy and everything friggin’ **dandy** down here in the Underground. Grimacing at the thought, Sans watches them approach him, mentally preparing himself for the overload of optimism and positivity and naivety he’s about to get smacked in the face with.

Honestly, he doesn’t get it. Why are they even back down here? Sure, they mighta gotten bored with the surface or something, started questioning the meaning of it all, but at least they would have been **happy** up there. They shoulda had a… a **family** , right? What could possibly make it worth it for them to throw that away and bring everything back to zero?

Well, whatever. It’s not like he’s ever understood this kid to begin with. Another shortcut, and he’s standing behind them, eyesockets empty, a menacing grin pasted on his face. “ **human** ,” Sans recites. “don’tcha know your kind isn’t welcomed down here?” Hollow humor in his voice, he chuckles. “still. **your funeral** , i suppose. not that anyone’ll probably care enough ‘bout ya to give you one of those.” A mocking pause. “but hey now. don’t you humans know manners? heh-heh… **t u r n a r o u n d a n d s h a k e m y h a n d.** ”

Dutifully, they turn. Instantly, Sans notices that something’s… off. Before, the kid was always smiling or frowning: they always seemed so emotional, so **expressive**. Like one of those characters offa Al’s human cartoons, or something. Now, however, their expression is just… blank. Empty. And hang on, where’s the weed? **I know you’re holding a joy buzzer, Sans,** they sign. Freezing, he stares at their hands, grin flattening. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, embedded within his soul, the old man stirs, muddled recognition—interest, even—radiating from his general direction.) **And you remember everything, don’t you? Or…** A hint of emotion visibly stirs on their face. **Or maybe you don’t?**

They speak in hands. The human is speaking in hands. But… why? He doesn’t, he can’t—

As the seconds pass, emotion drains from their face, and they drop their hands. **Or maybe you can’t understand me,** they say, seemingly to themselves. They look kinda unhappy about it. Why do they care so much about whether **he** can understand ‘em?

Huh. After quickly repressing his shock, the skeleton rearranges his expression into something more neutral. “nah, kiddo,” Sans states cautiously. “i understand ya just fine.” Instantly, their face brightens. Fumbling for words, he finally decides to just go ahead and bite the bullet, ask the obvious question here. “heh, somethin’ tells me you’re… not the human that was down here before. not, uh, chara.” The human’s name leaves a bitter taste on his tongue: instinctively, he takes a swig of mustard to drown it out. “sure, they looked like you, but somethin’ about that expression…” Unable to find the words he’s looking for, his voice trails off. “so, um. just who am i talking to, exactly?”

**F—R—I—S—K** , they painstakingly spell out before showing him a shorter namesign. Still, seeing as he can only interpret hands, not use it himself, Sans only half-memorizes it, only bothering to remember the general shape of the thing. Huh. Sounds familiar. Wasn’t that what the other-him had called the kid?

Closing his eyesockets for a moment, he tries to think back, remember what the other Sans had said and thought about them, but can’t. There’s a glimmer of knowledge there, sure, but only a faint one, and frankly he’s too exhausted to try any harder on that whole remembering thing. “okay then.” The skeleton allows himself another sip of mustard, then, reluctantly, puts it inside his coat pocket. If the way that **this** exchange is turning out is anything to go by, he’ll probably need it later. “so tell me, kid.” Keeping his tone guarded, he eyes their expression carefully, waiting for some minute tick to betray them. “what’s your play?” Sans bluntly asks, watching their face. Honestly, at this point, he’s tired of all the games. He just wants a straight answer out of this new human, so he can start doing whatever he has to do in response.

In response, they look quizzically at him. Mind, it’s not a “what’s that supposed to mean” kind of confusion: more of a “isn’t it obvious?” type.

It’s then that he sees the grainy, off-white dust liberally coating their hands, smeared all over their striped sweater, clinging stubbornly to their face. Spots the plastic handle of a knife sticking out of the waistband of their pants. Notices that their LOVE is at three. “oh,” he says, half to himself. “okay. so we’re doing this now.”

 Seeming uncertain, almost shy, Frisk stares at him. **You’re… the only one who told them the truth,** they sign, fingers trembling slightly. Doesn’t seem like it’s from the cold, either, if the tears sparkling in their eyes is anything to go by. **The only one who tried to warn them about what would happen.** A moment’s hesitation. **I don’t want to kill you. But…** Their face twists, turning steelier, glaring stubbornly at him. Heh, it’s almost cute, seeing this tiny kid try to intimidate him. **But if you try to stop me, then I will. Are you going to?**

Chuckles wrack his body: Sans ends up bent over, gasping for breath, a strange cracking sound accompanying his laughter. After a second, when the pain hits, he figures out what it is. “heh-heh-heh… sorry for laughing at you, kid, but i found that pretty **side-splitting** ,” he pants breathlessly, one hand cautiously brushing against his shirt, gingerly touching his ribs. With a pained wince, he withdraws his hand and takes a moment to cough into it: by the time that the skeleton removes it from his mouth once more, a gritty mixture of determination and dust is smeared on it. Well, that can’t be good. “one might even call it **rib-busting** humor. hah.” Shaking his head, he drops his hands, absentmindedly wiping his hands off on his pants. “nah, sweetheart, i’m not gonna stop you. assuming that what you’re planning on doing is, uh, spreading the LOVE, as it were, heh-heh. and, y’know, making the underground a nightmare for anyone with a dust allergy.” Another cough-laugh: his ribs twinge painfully. But hey, at least no more dust or determination comes up this time. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Their expression smoothes over: Frisk visibly slumps with relief. **Thank you,** they sign earnestly, smiling up at him. **For both this, and… before. When you tried to stop them from breaking the barrier. It didn’t work, but you still did the right thing.** Frowning slightly, they look down, breaking eye contact. **I’m sorry they didn’t believe you. For what it’s worth, I was listening.**

Slightly bemused, he tilts his head, grin shifting. “uh, no problem,” he accepts cautiously, eyeing them curiously. “but i can’t help but wonder something.” Several somethings, actually, but he’ll save the rest of ‘em for a later time. “why the reset, kid? what exactly happened up there?”

**Exactly what you said was going to happen,** they say, brow furrowed, staring at him like he should already know the answer. **Monsters killed** everyone **. All of the humans… all of them but** Chara. Frisk’s expression hardens. **And I’m going to spare the Surface from that fate by making sure that monsters** never **get the chance to do that again.**

__

Sans quickly comes to realize that, for a tiny kid, Frisk is kinda hardcore. In a fight, all it takes is a swipe of a knife, and they can wipe a monster off the face of the Underground like it was nothing more than a speck of dust to begin with. Heh. Course, he knows how much the effectiveness of attacks are linked to emotion, so he can connect the dots: the kid must really, **really** hate monsters for their near-genocide of humanity and for their theft of the surface. He can respect that… and, y’know, relate to their anger, though it’s for different reasons. Unfortunately, though his attacks only take away one HP a pop (even the karma ones) regardless of **how** much he hates the person he’s fighting. Good thing he can summon so many attacks, huh?

With all that power, all that burning hatred they carry, one’d think that the human’d actually fit in pretty well down here. Except, somehow, they don’t. Despite having the ability to reduce monsters to dust in a split second (and, y’know, actually doing it), Frisk is strangely… nice. Of course, not so much to monsters. Actually, now that he thinks about it, so far as he’s seen, they’re pretty much just nice to **him**. They can be slicing a monster to bits in one second, then waving cheerfully at him and offering him a soft smile and a slightly-smushed spider donut the next. To say the least, it’s a bit of an odd contrast: they’re kinda giving him whiplash. He’s not complaining, though. After all, it’s better that they act suicidally friendly towards just **him** than towards **everyone** , right? Besides, it, uh, admittedly feels kinda nice, having someone like that around. Almost reminds him of the old days, back before the Underground turned into the cutthroat, untrusting, kill-or-be-killed type of hell it is today.

“SANS!” the skeleton hears Papyrus shout, sounding infuriated. Flinching, he swiftly pivots in place, locking eyes with his brother, who’s apparently running towards him. Unsurprisingly, his boss looks pissed. Yeah, this is gonna be a fun conversation: he can tell already. Welp. Time to get it over with, he guesses. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL DAY? AND DON’T YOU DARE EVEN PRETEND TO HAVE BEEN AT YOUR STATION, YOU LAZY **BUFFOON**!” Repeating **that** insult, huh? (Well, not that Papyrus remembers the last time, but still.) Accusation flaring in his eyes, his boss skids to a stop in front of Sans, crossing his arms. “I CHECKED THERE FIRST, AND SAW NO SIGN OF YOU!”

Oh, yeah. Sans had taken a shortcut outta there so he’d be able to avoid **that** whole confrontation. After all, he’d known that the kid knew what to do to avoid Papyrus, since they’d been through it all before, so what woulda been the point of showing up? Having to dodge suspicion and conveniently-shaped lamps when he didn’t really **need** to just seemed like a waste of time and energy for him.

Well, he still needs to keep him distracted so he doesn’t notice the kid early: wouldn’t do for Frisk to have to dust his boss before they’re supposed to, right? They need an opportunity to sneak around him and go through all those puzzles and traps. So, instead of taking a shortcut outta there, he forces a hastily-crafted grin and tries not to think too much about what he’s doing, about his brother, about **anything**. Thoughts don’t matter now: he just has to **act**. “uh, i’ve actually been at my station most of the day,” the skeleton bluffs quickly. “just decided to go on patrol for a minute. after all, what if a human’d snuck past me?” A wink. “wouldn’t expect to have to deal with me again, now, would they?”

Papyrus facepalms: Sans suspects that there might be literal steam coming out of his ears. “DO YOU EVEN REALIZE HOW MANY **HOLES** THERE ARE IN YOUR LITTLE **STORY**?” he furiously grates out. “HOW **UNBELIEVABLE** IT IS? FOR ONE, WHAT ARE THE ODDS THAT YOU DECIDED TO LEAVE YOUR STATION **JUST** AS I WENT TO CHECK IT? FOR ANOTHER, YOU NEVER WAKE UP BEFORE I DO, YOU—YOU **INCOMPETENT LAZYBONES**!” Not even seeming to notice his own pun, he roughly drags his hand across his face. Sans toys with the idea of pointing it out to him, then decides against it. “AND WHEN A HUMAN INEVITABLY SNEAKS PAST YOU— **BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN SLEEPING ON THE JOB** **AGAIN** —IT’S **MY** DUTY TO CATCH THEM! NOT YOURS! SO WHAT WAS IT? HMM?” Quickly, his boss snatches him by his fur-lined hood and pulls him up to his eyelevel, glaring him down with a menacing scowl. “WAS IT GRILLBY’S? NAPPING? SNEAKING OFF TO THAT DOOR IN THE RUINS AGAIN?”

“yes, yes, fair to middling, no, not this time, and nah,” the skeleton rattles off quickly with a lazy, purposefully-infuriating grin, doing his best to mask how uncomfortable he is. He’s not really **used** to this anymore: being shouted at by Papyrus, that is. It’s, uh, been a while… or at least it **feels** like it’s been a while, but hey. He’d lived in that hidden cave for a long time, and then he’d been alone in the Underground for longer, and then he’d been, y’know, **dead**. Still, the human needs time, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t gonna give it to them. “anything else ya need, **bro**?”

Looking completely gobsmacked, his brother stares at him, utter shock clear in his gaze. “WHAT?” he hisses. “YOU… **WHAT**? YOU DARE—YOU DARE **MOCK** ME? **DISRESPECT ME**?” Suddenly, he’s dropping Sans like a sack of potatoes, and, with a twist of his hands, there’s an array of bones hovering in midair, all shining ghostly reds and blues. “AND I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT EVER AGAIN!” His boss’s phalanges twist into fists. “NEVER USE THAT WORD IN MY PRESENCE, EVER AGAIN!”

Huh. Okay. So he’s doing this now. He didn’t think Papyrus was gonna snap this easily, but whatever. Well, at least this’ll keep boss busy, right? Sans just has to keep him occupied so the kid can keep moving. It’s not like this is gonna matter in the long run. “call you what?” the skeleton questions evenly, quirking a brow-bone, making sure to keep his voice light and casual. He just has to stay calm, unfazed. Keep him occupied. None of this will matter. “you mean **bro**?”

Grin darkening, he watches as the other skeleton’s expression goes from outraged to deadly. “WH—WHAT IS WITH THIS **INSUBORDINATION**?” Suddenly, the world is changing around him, turning black and white. “FINE THEN! IF I MUST **YET AGAIN** TEACH YOU LESSON IN **RESPECT** , THEN SO BE IT!”

With that, bones are surging towards him, glowing with magic. He dodges one, takes a shortcut to avoid another, then freezes in place to allow a block of blue ones to pass harmlessly through him. “respect, huh?” he echoes, a hollow chuckle slipping past his teeth. None of this is going to matter. It’s all going to be reset no matter what he does, isn’t it? Besides, even if it isn’t, it’s not like anything **really** matters in the grand scheme of things, so what’s the point? What’s the point of **anything**? “whatever you say, **bro**.” Sans tilts his head, allows his eye to flash blue, yellow, red. “heh-heh… **g o o d l u c k.** ”

Snarling, Papyrus summons another barrage of bones, throwing them recklessly at him. Rolling his eyes, he dodges them all with ease. It’s his turn now, so, as an afterthought, Sans summons a small bone and throws it at the most convenient snowpoff. It doesn’t even make a dent, dissipating instantly. “ARE YOU EVEN **TRYING**?” his brother questions incredulously.

None of this is going to matter, so he answers honestly, giving his brother a helpless shrug and a wink. “nah, **bro**.”

His brother screams wordlessly for a minute, fingers clenching and unclenching. “STOP CALLING ME THAT!” Papyrus demands furiously, even more bones materializing behind him. “AND WHAT ABOUT THIS MORNING, HM? I **KNOW** YOU WERE THERE. I HEARD THE DOOR OPEN! SO **WHY** DID YOU **DISOBEY** AN **EXPLICIT** ORDER AND RUN AWAY FROM ME LIKE SOME SNIVELING COWARD?” Magic sparks to life in his eyes. “YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THIS. YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO **DISOBEY** ME. I’VE TAUGHT YOU BETTER THAN THIS.” There’s something predatory in his eyes, something dangerous. Involuntarily, Sans shivers. (It’s not from the cold.) “IT SEEMS I’M JUST GOING TO HAVE TO **PUNISH** YOU AGAIN!”

Dimly, Sans is aware that he’s laughing hysterically as he dodges the second onslaught, knows he shouldn’t be because it’s making his boss even angrier than he already is, but he just can’t stop. This doesn’t matter. Nothing is **ever** going to matter **ever** again, and it’s **hilarious**!

Eventually, though, as the bombardment of magic trickles to a stop, he manages to calm down, take a breather. “no need for the **pun** -ishment, bro. heh.” Chuckling softly, Sans watches his brother furiously grind his teeth. “you know... i’ve always wondered somethin’ about all this. maybe you’d be able to clue me in, heh-heh.” Magic sparks around his clenched fists, in his eyes. “do you ever remember it?”

Papyrus frowns, the magic streaming from his hands coming to a momentary standstill. Unconsciously, his brother, too, chooses to act—to question—instead of to fight. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU FOOL?”

Calmly, the skeleton closes his eyes, then reopens them. None of this is going to matter, right? Not even this. “killing me,” he clarifies nonchalantly. “all those times you’ve **killed** me, and then someone loaded or reset or somethin’, and i did whatever i had to do to, ah, **dodge the bullet** , as it were.” Reveling silently at the utter bewilderment on his boss’s face, Sans chuckles. “aw, c’mon, bro. heh-heh-heh, you **gotta** remember! i mean, it happened just this morning.” He winks, only half-aware that both his eyesockets are completely devoid of magic, of life, of anything. “heh-heh, and you call **me** forgetful. i might forget some things you tell me to do, sure, but at least **i** can remember you **killing** me all those times.” Sardonically, bitterly, he shakes his head, clicking his tongue with mocking disapproval. “how **can** you forget a thing like that? and within a few hours, too. i mean, sure, it was a reset and a lotta loads ago, and you do kill a lot of people, but still.” Grin eerily hollow, the skeleton sarcastically places a hand to his ribs. “i’m **hurt** , bro. thought i meant more than that to you. well…” His grin sours. “not **really**. but still.”

“YOU’VE COMPLETELY LOST YOUR MIND,” his brother claims, but that doesn’t matter, because Sans can see it behind his eyes. Sure, on the surface, there’s confusion, shock, and rage—about what he expected—but beyond that, deep, deep down, there’s something more. Something knowing. Something not entirely unlike a **memory**. Deep down, part of Papyrus remembers it all, doesn’t he? “SANS, YOU’RE—WHAT HAS GOTTEN **INTO** YOU TO MAKE YOU THINK THIS IS ACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR TOWARDS A **SUPERIOR** , YOU **HALF-WIT**? I KNOW I TRAINED YOU BETTER THAN THIS!” Suddenly, something seems to occur to him, and fury contorts his face (though it doesn’t quite manage to mask that hint of recognition). More bone attacks appear. “WELL, I SUPPOSE THAT ANSWERS MY PREVIOUS QUESTION. YOU SNUCK OFF TO GRILLBY’S AND DECIDED THAT DRINKING, OR DOING GOD-KNOWS- **WHAT** ELSE TO YOUR BODY, WAS A BRIGHT IDEA!” Disapprovingly, he shakes his head. “NYEH… WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I WASN’T TAKING CARE OF YOU? WITHOUT ME, YOU’D BE DUST WITHIN THE DAY.”

Laughter rings through the area. After a minute, the skeleton dimly recognizes it as his own. If only Papyrus knew, huh? Still, he’s not gonna comment on **that** right now. “aw, c’mon, bro.” Quickly, he sidesteps a wave of bones. “i mean, sure, the guy you killed might have been… oh, what’d you call me the last time? a waste of space? useless sack of dust? better off dead?” Sans’s grin widens: his face is hurting. “oh, wait. it was all of the above. still, i woulda thought that you’d remember you killed me for at least… i dunno, a couple hours. heh-heh. am i really **that** forgettable?” Something else occurs to him. Instantly, warning bells go off in his mind, and the skeleton knows it’s a **terrible** idea and he shouldn’t even **consider** it, but yet he finds his mouth moving anyway, dimly hears himself saying the words that he knows he’s never supposed to say. “well, alright. say you don’t remember killing me. that’s okay. i can get that. i wouldn’t remember me either.” His grin goes feral. “but d’you remember **him**?” Instantly, there’s a jolt going through his soul, a painful twisting caused by the stirring of the shard— ~~ **[Sans?]**~~ —but he grits his teeth and ignores it, continuing. “do you remember the old man?”

A blank look, but Sans knows better than to take it at (heh) **face** value, because Papyrus **has** to remember, right? Part of him has to remember the old man, he has to, he **has** to. If a piece of him remembers the other timelines, it has to remember **him** too, right? “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT OR WHOM YOU ARE SPEAKING OF,” his brother claims, but he’s lying, he’s **lying** , he **has to remember him**! He **can’t** have **forgotten**! No, no, **no** , don’t **forget** , **don’t** forget—“NOW LISTEN TO ME, YOU LAZY **WEAKLING**!”

Taken slightly off-guard, Sans tilts his head, mind momentarily wiped clean of the thoughts that had been plaguing it. Amusement bubbles up in his throat, but he represses it, allowing himself only a jagged smirk. Oh, yeah, Papyrus still thinks he’s **weak** , doesn’t he? Thinks that little old Sans would be dead without his oh-so- **cool** brother takin’ care of him. Heh. He’s always thought that his boss hates jokes, but apparently he’s been wrong this whole time: after all, right now, his little brother is a **barrel** of laughs. Still, Sans’ll indulge him. “heh.” The skeleton’s grin widens eerily. “m’listening, bro.”

“GOOD!” his brother spits in frustration, kneading away at his skull with his fingertips. “NOW! I REFUSE TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD OF THIS—THIS INCOHERENT NONSENSE YOU APPEAR TO SPOUTING! GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD.” A snarl on his face, Papyrus grinds his teeth together, voice going deathly calm. “YOU. ARE. **DRUNK**. AND IF YOU DO NOT WISH FOR THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR SNEAKING OFF TO GRILLBY’S WHEN YOU SHOULD BE WORKING TO BE EVEN **MORE** SEVERE THAN THEY ALREADY WILL BE, YOU WILL **SHUT UP** AND DO AS I **SAY**.”

Oh, wow. Heh-heh, it’s been a while since he’s seen the boss be **this** type of mad. “hitting a little too close to home, huh?” Sans mocks, flashing the other skeleton an angry grin. “heh-heh. well, alright. not in the mood for a chat, huh? s’ok. i won’t **judge** you for **that** , bro.” Magic stirs in the air behind him. Unable to keep from chuckling at his boss’s face, he watches as Papyrus’s eyes widen comically, dumbfounded eyesockets staring up in shock at Sans’s blasters, at the countless floating bones, at the raw **power** writhing in the air. “if you don’t wanna talk…”

Sans stands there. Waits for the skeleton to say something. But… nothing. Papyrus is speechless. Well, he guesses that’s it then. All his attacks are here. He just has to use them.

**“SANS?** ” Instantly, the skeleton freezes, instinctively closing his eyesockets. No. No, no, no. Not now. “ **SANS, ARE YOU OKAY? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?** ” Oh, god, please, not again. He **has** to do this. He can’t hesitate. He can’t let this stop him again! “ **YOU’RE S—SCARING ME A LITTLE. SAY SOMETHING. AN—ANYTHING! EVEN ONE OF YOUR STUPID PUNS, NYEH-HEH… PLEASE?** ”

Feeling the void scraping down his spine, his sins crawling on his back, Sans hisses softly. And then, calmly, oh-so-calmly, he opens his eyes. At first, he’s making eyecontact with Papyrus: the Great Papyrus, Royal Guardsman Papyrus, his (currently still shell-shocked) boss, the one who he absolutely despises with every speck of dust in his body. And then, suddenly, Papyrus is gone, and Sans’s little brother is standing in his place.

The skeleton is small and soft-looking: the type of kid who’d be dusted on sight down here. He wears a hand-knit red scarf and a striped orange shirt and dark pants, and he’s got the type of smile that’d light up the darkest room. Right now, though, his grin is strained around the edges, twisted with nerves and with fear. “ **HEY, QUIT DOZING OFF WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU, YOU LAZYBONES!** ” his little brother insists stubbornly, crossing his arms. “ **THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT BEFORE! YOU’VE BEEN SO DISTANT AND QUIET RECENTLY, AND THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE RIGHT NOW… I’M WORRIED ABOUT YOU, SANS!** ” Papyrus’s voice hitches in his throat. “ **ARE YOU IN NEED OF GUIDANCE? IS THERE SOMETHING I CAN DO TO HELP YOU? I—** ” His brother sniffles. “ **I JUST WANT YOU TO BE** OKAY **AGAIN, SANS. I’M SORRY. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, OR WHY YOU LOOK SO ANGRY AT ME, BUT… RIGHT NOW, IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE GOING DOWN A DANGEROUS PATH?** ” Glowing orange tears are welling in his little brother’s eyes. “ **ST…STILL! EVEN THOUGH I’M, UM, A** LITTLE **AFRAID RIGHT NOW, I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU, AND I ALWAYS WILL! NYEH-HEH-HEH!** ”

No. No, no, no. This is not okay, it’s **not** okay, and Papyrus hasn’t been like this for **years** so why does he still have to **see** this? What did he do to deserve this? Why does he have to see his little **brother** when he looks at this **demon**? **That** Papyrus, the **real** Papyrus, died when the prince did, and all that’s left of him is a memory that **this** Papyrus degrades and defiles with every second he spends alive, but yet Sans can’t do anything **about** it because he sees his brother when he looks at his boss and he **can’t** —

“ **PLEASE, SANS. I LOVE YOU.** ”

His mind goes numb.

__

It takes him about half an hour to realize that he’s at his workshop in the basement. Another fifteen minutes to realize that he’s been screaming incoherently the whole time.

So, uh. Needless to say, that didn’t work. It’d been kinda stupid of him, really, but part of Sans had dared to hope that, somehow, after that last reset, his, uh, little inability to hurt his boss would be gone. Honestly, he probably shoulda known better. In the past, he’s been **way** angrier at Papyrus, had so much hatred and magic burning within him in the heat of the moment that he’d felt like he was gonna **explode** with it all, and he **still** hadn’t been able to go through with it. Why would it have worked now? Heh-heh. Wearily, the skeleton drags a hand over his face. Good thing that his stupid sentimentality isn’t gonna matter in the long run. Sure, he might not have been able to go through with killing his brother, but he has this funny feeling that no such inhibition is gonna hold back the kid. So, ultimately, that little skirmish between his brother and him might have been pointless, but it’s not like it did any **harm**. At the end of the day, his brother will still be dead: only person it will’ve affected is Sans himself.

And as for that… well. He’ll live. In the past, he’s been lower than this, and he’d lived through **that** , hadn’t he? Kinda. Okay, not literally, seeing as he’d spent most of his time dead during that **particular** series of resets, but the point is that even **that** period in his life hadn’t really done much to **change** things, aside from maybe confusing the weed some. And, seeing how even **that** hadn’t affected things, certainly a fight with his brother in just **one** of the loops wouldn’t. Hopefully. Even though he’d talked about the resets and mentioned the old man, both of which the skeleton promised himself that he’d never do and hadn’t even done during his couch days and oh, god, **why** exactly had he done that, again? He was such an idiot. Stupid, stupid, **stupid**. No wonder Sans hadn’t been able to stop the kid last time, seeing how he’s apparently such a **babybones** that he’ll lose control of himself over stuff as petty as **this**.

Well, whatever. It isn’t gonna matter. Nothing will.

Heh. That thought’s been running through his head an awful lot recently, hasn’t it? Momentarily, the skeleton wonders if he should be concerned about that, then pulls a face and shrugs. It’s true, after all. Sure, it might not be the **healthiest** thing to be thinking about, but “healthy” isn’t exactly a word that can be used to describe a monster who constantly has his HoPe at 0.4 or less in **any** sense of the word. He’ll survive. (Unfortunately.)

Eventually, after searching a while, Sans finds the human sitting cross-legged on the ground in Snowdin Inn, rifling through their belongings. Curious, he glances at the stuff they’ve laid out on the floor. Frisk seems to be hoarding food: handfuls of monster candy litter the floor, as well as packages of popsicles and cinnamon rolls, a spider donut, and a slice of pie. Heh. Smart kid. In terms of armor and weaponry, however, they seem far more selective, choosing to wear only a pair of warm-looking gloves and a red bandanna (that looks a lot like Papyrus’s scarf but he **isn’t** going to **think** about him right now or he’s gonna **snap** again). They should probably be carrying a backup weapon, just in case something breaks. However, frankly, he’s amazed that they’re managing to carry everything as it is, and he understands why they’re prioritizing the food, so he won’t mention it. “whatcha doin’ in here, sweetheart?” the skeleton asks instead, crossing his arms.

Instantly, their gaze jerks from their supplies to him. **Where were you?** the kid questions, rising to their feet. **You weren’t in any of the spots where you were last time.** Frowning, they scan his face, seemingly looking for information, but don’t seem to find any. What can he say? Given his permanent grin, Sans can have a pretty good poker face when he wants to. **Did something happen?**

A casual shrug. “eh, nothing important,” he says. It’s not really a lie: it’s not important to **them** , and it won’t be important to **anyone** soon enough, right? “though, uh, i could ask the same of you.” Grin quirking, the skeleton crosses his arms, leaning against the wall, raking his gaze over the kid. “why’re you just sitting around in here? don’t ya know that the longer it takes you to get through the underground, the more time they’ll have to prepare for you to show up?” Tsking, Sans shakes his head. “you’re just making things harder on yourself in the long run, sweetheart.”

**I was waiting on you,** Frisk tells him somberly. **I was worried something had happened. Didn’t want to go until I knew you were okay.** A faint smile flutters over their features as they return to their items, fiddling with a monster candy wrapper. **I guessed that, if I stopped moving, you’d show up eventually.** (They don’t bother to state the obvious: that is, that they were right.)

Chuckling, the skeleton shakes his head in disbelief, eyesockets squeezing shut. “worried?” he repeats, incredulous. “yeah, okay. **sure** , sweetheart.” Curious despite his disbelief, he half-opens his working eye, peering at them. “and, uh. outta curiosity. if i didn’t show up? if someone’d dusted me? what would you’ve done then?”

They don’t even bother thinking about their answer. **Load to before it happened, figure out where you were, and kill whoever did it before they had the chance to do it again,** the human signs firmly. Eyesockets widening slightly, Sans stares at them, looking for a tell, for some glint of a lie hidden in their eyes or in the curve of their smile, but finds no hesitation in their expression. They’re… not lying?

Heh. Okay, **wow**. First off, is this kid for real? Are they freaking **serious**? Why the hell would they go back and redo everything, just to save **him**? He’s not worth the effort. Not to mention the fact that Sans doesn’t **want** to be saved. He isn’t afraid of death anymore. In fact, he embraces it. Sure, it’d been scary—absolutely fucking **terrifying** , actually—the first couple times, but now, the nothingness of the void is comforting: just like falling asleep.  And, uh… well, let’s just say that he absolutely **hates** it when someone wakes him up when he’s taking a nap.

But the human doesn’t know that, and he can’t let that fact change. After all, he has a feeling that his **particular perspective** on death is pretty… **unique** , and something tells him that they aren’t gonna respond well if they find out about it. Might try to **do** something about it, or worse, figure out his plan for the endgame, and he can’t have that. So, instead, he decides to downplay it and focus on more pressing things (for now, anyway). “trust me, kiddo,” the skeleton says mildly, not betraying his emotion. “that sorta sentimentality? down here, it’s weakness. and it’ll getcha dusted pretty quick if ya let it.” Briefly, he wonders if they’d still value his life so much if he fought ‘em, then brushes the thought aside. He’ll test that theory later if need be. “anywho, uh…” Awkwardly, Sans shrugs, splaying out his hands in midair. “i’m here now. so you ready to go, sweetheart?” Resolutely, they nod, determination flaring in their eyes. “heh-heh, alright.” A wink. “you run on ahead. i’ll catch up t’ya.”

**Okay.** They don’t waste time, immediately dashing off.

As soon as the door slams shut behind them, he collapses.

But no, no, this is a good thing, he wants this to happen, he **needs** this to happen, and Sans isn’t going to let himself get in his own way again. Not this time. Damn it, he shouldn’t have let himself fight Papyrus earlier. He’d known that he wouldn’t be able to go through with it, known that trying it again was a terrible idea, and yet he’d gone ahead and fought him anyway: all because he’d lost control of his emotions. And now, because he’d been stupid enough to actually do it, he’s having **doubts** that he, quite frankly, can’t afford to have right now, because this **needs** to happen. He wants this. He’s just, uh, **forgotten** that right now because of what happened earlier. And that’s okay—or, at least, it’s okay so long as that little incident doesn’t cause him to screw everything up. Which it won’t, because, despite all evidence to the contrary, Sans isn’t actually **that** much of an idiot. So it’s okay. Everything’s fine. He’ll be fine.

So he inhales. Exhales. Finds himself standing in a familiar place in Snowdin Forest, staring at a familiar scene. A human, a skeleton, billowing clouds of dusty fog obfuscating things: it’s almost like last time, if he ignores exactly **how** much more dust is swirling in the air and the fact that the kid’s gloves are covered in the same pale, gritty stuff.

“A HUMAN,” Papyrus murmurs, eyesockets narrowed, scanning them critically. Strangely, he doesn’t seem all that surprised. “BUT HOW…” Suddenly, realization floods his face. “SANS,” he frowns, face twisting strangely. After a moment of glaring, the skeleton’s gaze drifts down to the floor. “WELL THEN, HUMAN. I…” Seemingly lost for words, he pauses, watching as the human, ever-so-deliberately, steps towards him. “I’M AWARE THAT THIS MAY SOUND INSANE.” Welp. That’s definitely off-script. Hopefully that isn’t a bad sign. “PROBABLY BECAUSE IT IS! BUT IS IT POSSIBLE, PERCHANCE, THAT WE HAVE… HAVE MET **BEFORE**?” Okay, never mind, it’s **definitely** a bad sign. “I DON’T KNOW, I JUST… SANS SAID SOME THINGS EARLIER. AND AT FIRST, I THOUGHT HE WAS COMPLETELY OUT OF HIS MIND! BUT THEN I COULDN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT WHAT HE SAID.” Papyrus swallows. “AND I STARTED REMEMBERING THINGS.”

Okay, this is **bad**. This is really, really bad. How has Sans managed to mess things **this** badly? A lot of things have happened between him and Papyrus through all the different resets, but no matter **what** he’s done, he’s never, **ever** managed to make Papyrus remember anything from the other timelines—probably because he’s never mentioned them, and that was for a **reason**. What if he remembers everything? What if this lasts through **all** the timelines? What would that mean for him? He can’t afford for that to happen. It’d change **everything** : take away any chance he has of an **out** from all this and leave him stuck here with his boss in this looping timeline for all eternity.

Frisk takes another step. “I DON’T REMEMBER EVERYTHING. BUT I—I THINK I REMEMBER YOU, AND BECOMING YOUR, AH, YOUR FRIEND!” Papyrus pronounces the word carefully, face puckering slightly. Guess he’s not used to saying it. “AND, MORE IMPORTANTLY… WHAT HAPPENED WITH SANS.”(The skeleton in question stiffens.) “HIM GOING MISSING, AND TRYING TO FIND HIM. AND, WELL.” His face twists, turning pained. “FINDING HIM WHEN IT WAS TOO LATE.” Huh. They find him after he fell down, or something? “AND I KNOW NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE, BUT, MAYBE, IF THIS IS ALL... **REPEATING** , SOMEHOW? IF EVERYTHING I REMEMBER REALLY HAPPENED?” Papyrus’s eyesockets narrow. “THEN, IF YOU WISH IT, I WILL GLADLY BE YOUR ‘FRIEND’ AGAIN, SMALL HUMAN—ON **ONE** CONDITION!” Posing dramatically, he crosses his arms, tattered scarf fluttering in the wind. “I WILL ASSIST YOU, BUT YOU **MUST** HELP ME FIND MY BROTHER AND BRING ME TO SAFETY! I’M…” A frown. “NOT SURE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM THE FIRST TIME. STILL, WHATEVER IT IS, WE **CANNOT** LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN! THIS SCENARIO—EVERYTHING HAPPENING AGAIN—MAY BE BIZARRE AND NONSENSICAL. BUT, IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, IT IS, IN REALITY, A SPECTACULAR OPPORTUNITY! NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

Okay. Well. Time to think through this logically. Because of what Sans did (which was, apparently, an **way** worse idea than he’d originally thought), his brother remembers some of the last timeline. He hasn’t mentioned anything from the earlier ones, though, so it’s pretty safe to say he doesn’t remember them. Judging by that whole “too late” thing, Papyrus probably found him after he’d fallen down, as well, and he’s… trying to stop it? Sure, the skeleton has no idea **why** , because it’s already been established that Papyrus doesn’t care about him, but that’s still the long and short of what he can piece together.

Something dark contorting their face, the kid starts to walk forwards, moving more and more quickly, breaking almost into a run. Papyrus looks confused. “WHY ARE YOU APPROACHING, CHILD?” he asks curiously, tilting his skull. “IS THIS YOUR FRIVOLOUS HUMAN NEED FOR HUGS RESURFACING AGAIN?” Suddenly, his eyes brighten. “IS THIS A HUG OF ACCEPTANCE, PERHAPS?” Not even seeming to notice the danger in their eyes, the hatred emanating off them, Papyrus stoops down, arms open. “VERY WELL THEN, HUMAN! I, PAPYRUS, ACCEPT YOU WITH OPEN ARMS!”

They knock his head right off his shoulders.

And he’s supposed to be **feeling** something, right? Sans should definitely be experiencing **some** type of emotion right about now. That feeling from the Judgment Hall when he killed the first kid—victory, justification, satisfaction at watching their lifeless body flop to the floor and the blood gush from their body because they deserved this, because he hated them, because they’d done this, because he might be the only one down here who can see the truth right now but he’s gonna make damn sure that they end up seeing it too by the time he’s done here with ‘em—should be hitting him tenfold, at the very least. Heck, even **grief** would make more sense than this. But, yet, he can’t feel **anything**.

For a moment, Sans does exactly what he does best—that is, absolutely nothing. Then, eventually, his body finally catches up, and he numbly starts laughing, twisted (hollow) chuckles escaping him, echoing through the clearing, bouncing strangely around the area. The laughter sounds insane: warped with bitterness, with hatred, with the joy of vengeance wreaked. It doesn’t even seem like it’s coming from him, and he **certainly** doesn’t feel any of the mocking mirth clearly audible in his laughter, but the skeleton keeps right on laughing anyway. Why? Hell if he knows. His brother hears it, though, and, judging by that look on his face, he seems to recognize the voice, too. “SANS,” Papyrus says quietly, closing his eyesockets. “SANS, I—”

Fury contorts the kid’s face. Lip curled back, Frisk plants their shoe square in the middle of his decapitated skull—which, needless to say, shuts him right up. Then, slowly, deliberately, they lean forward. Instantly, the horrible, grating sound of cracking bones fills the area: there’s a muffled (yet distinctly agonized) scream that lasts for what seems like an eternity, and then the skeleton crumbles to dust.

Yeah, he’s **definitely** supposed to be feeling something right now.

Pointedly, they look away from him. **Now you don’t have to be afraid,** the human signs. **He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. He’ll never hurt you again.** With that, they walk away, not once looking in Sans’s direction.

Huh. Well. That was, uh… certainly something. Contemplatively, his gaze drifts across the clearing, eventually landing on something: a patch of red upon the mottled grey-white blanket of dusty snow covering the ground. Sans considers it, then impulsively takes a shortcut over to it and stares down at the bright scrap of fabric.

For a moment, he indulges himself. Lets himself think about a better time: a time when the scarf had been new, and the old man had still been alive, and it wasn’t kill or be killed, and he had still had hope. A time when kindness had been enough. A time when Papyrus had still **cared** about him, been his **brother**. His **family**. “heh.” Cautiously, the skeleton stoops down and, making sure not to disturb any of the dust, picks up the delicate shred of bright red fabric, cradling it gently in his hands.

For a moment, he thinks about it before deciding to carefully tie the scarf around his neck underneath his hoodie. It’s not much: just another piece of the past he carries with him. Hell, odds are that no one will even be able to tell it’s there, but that doesn’t matter. After all, the scarf isn’t a trophy. Nah, he’s just gonna carry it to remind himself just why he’s doing this.

Kill or be killed.

Welp. That’s it, he guesses. It’s finally over. Papyrus is dead—this time around, anyway. No guarantees that this is a permanent deal, of course. All it’ll take is a reset, and he’ll be right back to square one. But that’s then. So, what now?

__

 “ya might wanna watch where you sit down.” Slyly, he grins. “sometimes freaks put whoopee cushions on the seats. s’real immature.” The kid giggles softly, jumping off their chosen barstool and gently picking up the whoopee cushion they’d sat on. However, instead of setting it aside, they point it towards him and squeeze with all their might: dust motes swirl elegantly through the air in the wake of the current, brushing gently against his skull as a noisy, squelching pfffffft rips through the air. The skeleton snorts. “now **that** , on the other hand, was **very** mature. maybe i should stop calling you kid.” Sans considers it. “yeah, no, i’m not gonna do that.” It’s easier, calling them kid: nicknames help keep things less personal, stop him from getting attached. There’ve been a lot of “kids.”

Bashfully, they smile up at him for a moment, eyes shining happily, then turn to their barstool and struggle to pull themselves onto it (and somehow manage to do so, despite the fact that it’s taller than they are). Huh. It’s at times like this, when they look like that—all happy and innocent, like a child’s supposed to be—that he almost forgets how he got to be sitting there with them, why Snowdin Town is devoid of life, why the walls and floor of Grillby’s are smeared with dust. How can they keep being that happy in the middle of all of this death and suffering? It’s like the kid can just… turn off all their anger and hatred and grief at will. S’gotta be a useful skill to have: Sans’s never met anyone like that down here.

Unexpectedly, a wide smirk on their face, the kid winks at him and snaps their fingers, pointing double finger-guns at him with a wolfish gleam in their eyes.  Instantly distracted, Sans stares at them for a long moment, trying to process that, then suddenly crumples in on himself and laughs so hard that he feels like he’s gonna crumble to dust right then and there. “bahahaha…” Are they trying to **hit** on him? Holy shit, that’s fucking **adorable**. “oh, jeez. give a guy some warning next time you’re gonna do something like that, will ya?” They’re what, six years old? Can’t be older than nine for sure. It’s true that monsters learn about the birds and the bees pretty early on nowadays, but they don’t, uh, usually start trying to **do** anything with that information until they’re around twelve to fourteen years old. Either humans mature a hell of a lot faster than monsters, or this is one interesting kid he’s got on his hands.

At that, their grin grows even wider. **You should come with a warning label,** they sign rapidly, expression seeming downright lewd. **“Caution: hot.”**

Oh, man. “kid,” the skeleton gasps out between frenzied chuckles. (It’s possible he’s in hysterics.) “ju—just do me a favor and **chill** for a sec. unless you **really** want me to crack a rib.” At that, Frisk smiles smugly, but (thankfully) does as asked, giving him a chance to try and calm down. “heh, wow. uh. maybe **frisky** ’d be a better name for you, kid.” Softly, the human giggles, eyes shining brightly. “so. um.” Why are they here again? Oh, right. Food. “huh. the service’s usually better than this here.” Then again, he and the kid **had** just killed all the restaurant’s patrons. That could always have something to do with it. Sighing heavily, Sans drags himself to his feet. “hang on, lemme go check in the back. see if there’s any food lying around.”

Course, he can’t exactly walk directly to the back, seeing as he isn’t made of fire. Closing his eyes, the skeleton exhales heavily, feeling magic flood his bones as he takes a shortcut. Before he has time to reopen his eyesockets, Sans finds his legs being swept out from under him, arms suddenly pinned behind his back by uncomfortably-warm hands. “ _If you try to teleport out of here, I **will** kill you before you get the chance,_ ” a familiar voice hisses in his metaphorical ear, tones quiet but dagger-sharp. Oh. So **this** is happening now. “ _The same applies if you try to attack or scream. Consider your next move very carefully._ ”

At that, the skeleton just chuckles, body shaking with laughter. “you really think i **can** scream, grillbz?” he questions amusedly, though dutifully making sure to keep his voice quiet. “ **that’s** a laugh if i ever heard one.” Softly, he scoffs, shaking his head. “look, let’s just get to the point.” The skeleton’s voice sharpens slightly, although he makes sure to keep it jovial: wouldn’t do for him to break character or anythin’, after all. “we both know that, if you wanted me dead, you’d have killed me the second you saw me. an’ if i **really** needed to get outta this little bind ya got me in, i’d be long gone.” A sharp-toothed smirk (although it’s lost on Grillby, as he can’t see it). “you remember how good i am at finding **shortcuts** outta sticky situations, don’t ya? so drop the bluff. unless you try anything stupid, i’m not gonna try and hurt you.”

“ _That’s not enough,_ ” Grillby murmurs menacingly, cold fury in his voice that doesn’t quite manage to mask the underlying tension, the fear, afraid of **him**. Hah. “ _Swear to me that you will not harm anyone in this room or reveal our presence here to anyone, **especially** the human_.” His voice turns—heh—frosty. “ _And don’t even think about lying to me. I know how you are with promises._ ”

Jeez, Grillbz sure knows him, huh? Heh-heh. “alright, alright,” Sans mutters, purposefully making his tone irritated yet casual. “you really don’t trust me, do ya?” The skeleton mockingly shakes his head, internally thankful that, due to his position, no one but him is aware of the sharp-edged grin that’s currently splaying across his face. “honestly. after all these years, too. ‘m hurt, grillbz. c’mon, what’d i ever do to you?” Sans heaves a mock-rueful sigh, stifling his laughter. “fine. i promise. no attacking, and no snitching. got it. really. now will you let me go already?”

He feels more than hears Grillby’s long, weary exhale. Suddenly, the skeleton finds himself being unceremoniously thrown to the ground.

“ow.” Wincing, he stumbles to his feet, gaze sweeping his surroundings. Ah, so **that’s** why the bartender’s so on edge right now. They have **company**. “so **you** must be fuku,” Sans grins smugly, allowing his grin to twist with cruel amusement. No **wonder** Grillbz has never let anyone see her before: she’s small and sickly-looking. **Weak**. Hell, she isn’t even bothering to try to scowl at him and act all tough like most kids do: she’s **trembling** under the force of his gaze, flames wavering uncertainly like they know they could be extinguished at any moment. How has a kid like her not been dusted yet? Even with her father hiding her away all this time, **someone** musta seen her alone at some point and thought she looked like easy pickings. (Then again, people say the same thing about him.) Well, since he’s here, he might as well give it a go, right? After all, this kid doesn’t **deserve** to get to live her life untouched by the hatred and cruelty that permeates this hellhole, sheltered, **protected**. No worries, though. He’ll fix that. “heh. where are my manners?”  Subtly slipping on the joy buzzer and setting the voltage as high as it’ll go, he extends a hand, grin quirking. Can someone made of fire be electrocuted? Far as he’s concerned, there’s only one way to find out for sure: if she’s stupid enough to take the bait and it ends up dusting her, he’ll take that as a yes. “i’m sans. sans the skeleton.” Hesitantly, Fuku stares at his hand, looking uncertain. Unfortunately, Grillby slaps his hand down before Sans gets the chance to goad her into shaking it. “wow. uh. rude.”

Looking unamused, the bartender glares at him. “ _Try to touch her again, and we find out if skeletons can burn,_ ” he demands furiously, voice crackling with rage. (The answer, incidentally, is yes, kinda, although it takes a hell of a lot of time and effort. Grillby’d been **really** pissed with him that reset: Sans may not be totally sure just what he’d done to deserve it, but the rest of that whole experience had definitely been **memorable**.) “ _Why are you here, Sans? What do you want?_ ”

“why does anyone go to a restaurant?” the skeleton deadpans, casually folding his arms behind his back so he can turn off the joy buzzer without being noticed. “just looking for some grub.” His grin widens. “c’mon, isn’t that s’pposed to be your job? jeez, no need to get all **heated** over someone lookin’ for a meal at a restaurant. how do you get return business if you attack all your customers?” Pointedly, he glances behind him. “well. uh. not that the place is exactly packed right now. speaking of which, when was the last time you cleaned this joint? hate to break it to you, but it’s all **dusty**.” A wink. “might wanna consider doin’ something about that.”

Grillby stares at him for a long moment. Without breaking eye contact, he shoves a basket of fries towards the skeleton, gaze burning into the other’s eyesockets. “ _I’ll just put it on your tab, shall I?_ ” the bartender murmurs sardonically. “ _If you and your human continue on your current path of destruction, you’ll doubtlessly devalue the worth of gold anyway._ ”

Taken aback, he snorts, fingers curling awkwardly around the proffered basket. “ **my** human? they don’t belong to me, y’know.” Skeptically, the skeleton glances down at the fries for a second, weighing the odds. It’s probably not poisoned, seeing as the bartender woulda had no time with **which** to poison them, but there’s always the off chance that Grillby’d performed some impressive sleight of hand while Sans was distracted. Welp, if they **do** turn out to be poisoned, the kid will (unfortunately) just reset, right? Refusing the fries would just be a waste of food. “thanks, grillbz,” the skeleton says, nonchalantly leaning back. “by the way.” Suddenly, Sans’s tone changes, becoming uncharacteristically serious: his grin hardens, flattening slightly as he stares at him. “just a word of warning? i’d stay holed up in here for as long as possible if i were you. see, i dunno how long it’s gonna take for the human to get outta this hellhole, or what’s gonna happen along the way, but, uh…” His eyes darken, flickering ominously. “well. you’re relatively safe in here, what with the fire door and all. i’m not gonna tell the kid about you two, but if they end up seeing you cause ya decided to stretch your legs, there’s nothin’ i can do for ya. capisce?”

Lips thinning, the bartender nodded, scrutinizing him closely. “ _Go,_ ” Grillby finally says. “ _Before your human wonders why you aren’t back yet._ ”

At that, Sans can’t help but laugh. “yeah, yeah,” he quips, “love you too, hot stuff.” With that, he takes a shortcut outta there before Grillby changes his mind about not killing him, reappearing next to the human in the blink of an eyesocket. “here ya go, sweetheart.” The kid swivels around on their stool, instantly perking up at the sight of him. “this is all i could find.” He sets the fries down in front of them. “i’m **pretty** sure they’re not poisoned. no promises, though: i dunno who this were prepared for.” He smirks. “sometimes grillbz gives your food an extra **kick** if you haven’t paid your tab. trust me, there’s nothing like a bit of cyanide to remind people to tip. and by people, i mean the witnesses.” It’d happened to him one reset, and **he’d** certainly remembered to pay his tab when the flower finally loaded, hadn’t he? Whatever works, he supposes.

Frisk contemplates the fries, seemingly considering the possibility that they’re poisoned, then shrugs nonchalantly and swipes one. **What took so long?** they ask curiously after popping it into their mouth and wiping their hands off on a napkin.

It doesn’t take much effort to feign a chuckle and a grin: probably because he’s been faking it for a while now, he’s guessing. “oh, yeah, i found a few survivors back there,” Sans states simply. “grillby and his daughter. figured i might as well go ahead and dust ‘em while i was at it.” There. Now he’s both protected Grillbz **and** broken his promise to him by revealing to the kid that the two had been back there. All is right with the world—or, at least, as far as that end of things goes. Momentarily content, the skeleton snags a fry. “so, do me a favor and talk to me about petals.” He casually takes a swig of mustard, relishing the taste of it. (Hah. **Relish**.) “it still alive, or what?”

They frown. **I tried to kill him when I saw him, but he ran away** , the kid admits, guiltily setting down their fry. **I haven’t seen him since.** Absentmindedly, they crumple a napkin, digging their ragged fingernails into it. Kiddo looks a little tense, huh? **Do you think he’s going to be a problem? He could just be hiding from me, or…** Their expression abruptly goes from nervous to stormy. **Or he could be trying to stop us.**

“that flower’s been a **thorn** in my side for a real long time now.” Sans snorts at his own joke. “heh. anyway, yeah, i’m thinking that second thing, unless you spooked it real bad.” Thoughtfully, he chews a fry. “see, here’s my guess. that weed’s been used to being invincible for a **long** time now.” Even Sans isn’t sure how long the flower’s been around, and he remembers almost everything. In his defense, all the resets make it hard to keep track. Not to mention the fact that he was, uh, kinda out for the count for a long string of ‘em. “even when the last kid—uh, chara, i mean—fell down, they were on its side. they woulda reset if somethin’ happened to it, so the only thing it’s ever really had to worry about is the pain.” Pointedly, he glances at them: they’re watching him solemnly, all while methodically tearing their napkin into pieces. “until **now** , that is. still, it probably feels invincible, just ‘cause it’s used to **being** invincible, y’know? so, uh, it should be more likely to take risks.” The skeleton leans back on his barstool. “or that’s my theory, anyhow,” he says through a mouthful of fry. “either way, we should probably be ready for anything.” A wink. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll keep an **eyesocket** out for ya.” Wait a second, isn’t there something he wanted to say to the human? Oh, right. “anyway. speaking of the other kid, i got a question for ya. how, uh…” Vaguely, he flaps his hands at them. “you’re not them. but you look a hell of a lot like ‘em, minus the red eyes and the grin. in fact, just from looking atcha, i’d go so far as to say you’re the same kid.”

Frisk sets down the greasy, evenly-shredded napkin. **They’re a demon,** they calmly tell him. Welp, that isn’t exactly the type of answer he was expecting. Honestly, Sans had just been guessing that the kid had more than one personality, or something like that. **They died down here long ago.**

Well, at least he finally has an explanation as to why Chara’d been so convinced that monsters can be redeemed despite how awful things are down here. It all makes sense now. The kid had seen what the Underground had used to be like, knew how good things used to be down here, and is naïve enough to think that one day, with patience and kindness and **determination** (like they don’t all have that last thing in spades anyway), monsters can revert back to their former ways. Yeah, the skeleton supposes that’s understandable. He’d thought that too, once. Hell, he even knows that this whole mess—“kill or be killed,” the betrayal and lies and brutality and raw suffering that’s become the Underground’s norm—isn’t the fault of **all** monsters: just dear old Fluffybuns, and **he’s** been suffering, too.

Heh-heh-heh. There’s just one simple thing the brat hasn’t realized. Although the King is lashing out in grief because of the death of his children, and monsters are doing what they have to do to survive in a kill-or-be-killed world, that doesn’t make any of them innocent **or** redeemable. And yeah, maybe, a **long** time ago, things could have been fixed, and someone coulda stopped everything from going to hell, but that someone sure as **fuck** hadn’t been him. That “someone” had died before he had the chance to save the Underground from Asgore, and Sans had been too busy mourning to pull his head out of his ass and see that everything around him was falling apart at the seams, that pure, sweet, trusting Papyrus was being manipulated into becoming something dark and terrifying and dangerous and twisted while his useless, good-for-nothing brother was too busy lying on the couch and contemplating ending it all to do something to fucking **stop** it. By the time that Sans’d finally realized what was happening and mustered up the energy to try to **do** something about it, it was too late, and that’d been years and countless resets ago. At this point, everything’s too far gone. There’s nothing left to do about it **but** show monsters the only type of mercy that he can. That’s his job: his sentence for past crimes, one might say. Sans sat back and watched as this world went to ruin, and he failed to save his brother, and his penance for his neglect is to spare them from having to suffer any more because of his inaction, end this pain for good—that is, by ending **everything**. There’s no pain in death, after all. He would know.

Oh, and there’s another thing that Chara doesn’t know: something Sans learned a long time ago. Even if monsters could be saved, there’d be no point to it, anyway. There’s no meaning to anything. It’s all pointless.

Frisk snaps him out of his brooding—literally, seeing how they do it by snapping their fingers. **They hated all humans,** they sign. Heh. He got a bit too deep there, huh? C’mon, he’s supposed to be **Comic** Sans, not Serious Sans. Gotta keep in character. **When I fell down here, they stole my body for themselves. They used it to free monsters from the Underground, then trapped my soul down here just so they and the monsters could destroy humanity.** Their fingers clench near-imperceptibly, grabbing at empty air. **This is all their fault.**

Sans considers that. “so, uh… what happened to ‘em?”

**They’re still here,** the kid says simply, pointing at the empty barstool by Sans. Blankly, he turns to look at it. It’s… just an ordinary barstool. **That’s where they’re sitting. I know you can’t see them. No one can. They’ve been following me for a while, though.** They stare at the basket of fries, then, after a moment’s contemplation, select the best one. **Don’t worry, though. I won’t let them take back control. I was only able to get my body back because they let me, and I’m not going to let them steal it again.** On second thought, maybe he discounted the whole multiple personalities theory too soon. Welp. Doesn’t really matter either way, he guesses. It’s not like he can do anything about it anyway.

Y’know, Sans should probably say something to the kid right about now: something to reassure this kid that he understands what they’ve been through and that, one day, things are gonna be okay again. “alrighty then.” Perfect. “uh, you should probably get moving right about now, sweetheart. don’t wanna give fluffybuns ‘n the others too much time to prepare, do ya?” Besides, he **really** needs a nap right about now. “here.” He shoves the remaining fries towards them. “you should take these with you. might need ‘em, y’know?”

__

** I was with you, you know. When you fell down. I sat with you. I know you couldn’t see me, but I didn’t want you to be alone. **

That’s certainly a promising start to this conversation. “welp. uh.” Feeling a bead of dust roll down his face, he stares intently at his Tekilla, only barely managing to resist the urge to mix some mustard into the concoction. Unfortunately, judging by the smell coming off of it, he probably wouldn’t be able to taste it anyway over **whatever’s** in this thing, and he’d sure hate to ruin the whole gasoline and oil slick aesthetic that the drink seems to have going on. “thanks?” he hazards uncertainly. C’mon, what else is he supposed to say when someone says something like **that**? Jeez, this kid is even blunter than the frying pan they’re currently using to dust monsters.

Luckily for him, they don’t seem particularly bothered by his lack of expressiveness. **I just thought you should know,** the kid says simply, watching impassively as he takes a cautious sip—although they do crack a smile when he instantly chokes on the stuff. C’mon, give him a break, okay? This stuff doesn’t just **look** like crude oil: it **tastes** like it, too. It’s just plain awful. Disgusting. Honestly, who would **drink** this? Scoffing, he shakes his head, taking a huge swig of the stuff. **I haven’t seen Alphys at all,** they continue after a long pause, eyes darting closely over him. S’almost like they can **see right through him** or something, heh-heh. **Looked. Can’t find her anywhere. A lot of other monsters are missing, too.**

Huh. Well, that’s interesting. Seems like they’re hiding out somewhere, huh? He can’t exactly see Al having the **backbone** to pull a stunt like this on her own, or the King caring enough to order her to do it. Only other person he can think of who has the authority to make her do something like that is Undyne, and she wouldn’t exactly have the motivation to… or the **ability** , seeing as she’s, y’know, dead now. “well, isn’t that **fishy** ,” he drawls thoughtfully, grinning emptily as he drums his fingers thoughtfully against his glass. Welp, whatever. It’s not like the whole **why** thing really matters. “heh, guess it’s a good thing hide and seek has always been easy for me, then, isn’t it?” A wink. “since, y’know, i’ve always had this handy little talent for finding shortcuts that make it **child’s play**.” Hastily, they clap their hand over their mouth, muffling their giggle as their eyes shine happily up at him. Heh-heh. Kid’s always been a good audience when it comes to his particular brand of comedy: not quite as good as the lady, of course, but **no one** appreciates a good joke as much as the lady. Plus, the human doesn’t just listen to his puns. They listen to **him**.

Hey, come to think of it, since they’re so good at hearing what he has to say, maybe there’s something important he should tell ‘em. A **story**.

And yeah, sure, he **may** have promised himself a long time ago that he’d never tell this story to anyone, but promises are made to be broken, and he’s already kinda broken this one. He just… he can’t let the old man’s memory die out this easily. **Somebody** has to remember that he used to exist, who he was, what he stood for—and if, somehow, by some miracle, this really turns out to be the last run, it’s not like Sans is gonna be around all that much longer. If everything goes to plan, the human’s gonna be the only one who survives all this. Course, the odds of everything **actually** going to plan are about the same as a snowball’s chance in Hotland, but even so, it’s not exactly like it’s gonna **matter** whether he tells them or not, anyway. He’s got nothing left to lose.

Heh. Y’know, Sans had made that promise to himself before because he was **so** **afraid** that he was accidentally gonna wake the old man up or trigger some huge, universe-shattering event in the process. But, honestly, he can’t bring himself to care anymore.

“hey, let me tell you a story,” the skeleton says. Instantly, the kid perks up, expression brightening as they lean towards him with a hopeful expression. “so, you know that the king’s two kids got themselves killed, right?” Face crumpling confusedly (although their nose scrunches up a little in what looks like disgust), they nod. “after that happened, dear ol’ fluffybuns decided to shake things up a bit down here. that’s when ‘kill or be killed’ became a thing, y’know. it was propaganda. he was trying to make us antsy, turn us all on each other. and, well… believe it or not, it didn’t exactly catch on.” Glancing back across the table at them, Sans can’t help but chuckle: they look so **surprised**. Well, for all they know, monsters have **always** been like this, huh? They’ll never see what things **used** to be like down here. It’s… kinda sad, to be honest. “oh, yeah. there was this **huge** counter-movement. the ‘ **true pacifists** ’… or that’s what they called themselves, anyhow. i, uh…”

Well, the skeleton’d been **very** highly involved with that back in the days when he’d still had the energy to **do** things like, y’know, help organize and lead a huge, controversial campaign to save the Underground. But, uh, maybe he’s not gonna tell the kid about that? After all, they already know too much about his Tragic Backstory (TM) as it is: Sans doesn’t really want to give them (or the **other** human, for that matter, if it turns out they really are hearing all this) any more dirt on him. Besides, this isn’t about **him**. It’s about the old man.

“anyway. the guy who led it was the royal scientist.” Instantly, the shard is twisting like a knife in his soul, sending pain sparking through him and **ow** , fuck, he’s pretty sure one of his ribs just dusted because of the subsequent HP loss. ~~**[Sans?]**~~ “he talked a lot about… y’know, acceptance and forgiveness and understanding and kindness and the non-acronymous type of love. the whole shebang. uh, he…” Face twisting uncomfortably, Sans searches for the right words. “he was a good guy. the best.” Abruptly, his eyesockets go empty. “and in the king’s new world, there was no room for good guys.” ~~**[Sans, can you hear me? I can’t see anything.]**~~ “so.” God, this was a bad idea. “um, so he—he…” Right now, it’s all he can do to keep the old man’s memories and emotions and magic at bay, and he’s not sure he can do it anymore, because he’s so **tired**.

~~**[So tired, and there’s nothing he can do. He’s alone, so alone, and he can’t even think clearly anymore. Sans has been forcing him to sleep for what feels like an** eternity **, lulling him right back to sleep when he begins to wake, blocking him from even** seeing **things through his eyes. And isn’t that one of the most concerning things of all, because what is he hiding from him? Whatever’s happening must be terrible, yes, but terrible enough to warrant preventing him from knowing about it? What has become of the Underground?]**~~

~~**[Usually, these questions don’t end up concerning him, simply because he’s unconscious. But, sometimes, he abruptly finds himself conscious—suddenly able to think clearly once more—and he can remember** everything **and he ends up drowning in it all: the thoughts, the panic, the fury and terror and heartbreak and disappointment and disbelief and loss. Stuck like this, as a forgotten piece of a shattered whole hiding away in another’s soul, he is woefully incomplete, a mere fraction of what he’s supposed to be. While the rest of his soul may be gone, but the weight of it is still** crushing **him. Like a phantom limb, except he’s not the body. He’s the** limb **, weak and alone and in pain and slowly but surely turning to dust.]**~~

~~**[Sometimes, he can sense the other pieces of him, too. But that frightens him even more than the rest of it combined.]** ~~

~~**[He has to** fix **this. There has to be something he can do! Yes, he may be in… something of a** predicament **, but that can be fixed. It can all be fixed. Whatever’s happening, it’s unmistakably bad: even in his sleep, he can constantly feel Sans’s despair, continuously bouncing off of his own in a vicious cycle of hopelessness and anguish and fury and emptiness.]**~~

~~**[Oh, gods. What happened to Papyrus? Did he** die **? If Asgore killed him, I swear I’ll—]**~~

~~**[No. Focus. Concentrate. Whatever’s happening, it’s bad, yes, but not irreparable. Everything can be fixed. He can assess his situation, determine the most logical solution, and act accordingly. After all, that is his job; he is, above all, a scientist.]** ~~

It’s too much. All of it. He can’t speak, can’t move or even **think** because the old man’s panic and despair and agony and hollowness is twisting itself around his bones, shoving itself into his broken eyesocket, meticulously threading itself piece by piece between his teeth, pinning him down, and he can’t see a damn thing, and— **hah** —somehow, he gets the feeling that it might not **just** be because he’s half-blind! Well, whaddya know? The doc was right: there’s nothing left but the darkness! Dark, darker, yet darker, huh? Heh, the skeleton’d thought that he’d just been talking about the ending of the timeline at that point, but nonono, **now** he **gets** it!“ ~~ **[So he mysteriously disappeared, and everyone forgot about him and what he had believed in,]**~~ ” the old man murmurs, and he might technically be using Sans’s body to talk, but the cadence and accent and volume are **all** his. “ ~~ **[Almost like he’d never existed in the first place.]**~~ ”

~~**[I can fix this, Sans. I can fix everything, I promise! All I have to do is wake up completely. That’s easy, right? After all, I’m already conscious. It’s simple. Just wake up.]** ~~

~~**[justwakeupjustwakeupjustwakeupjustwakeupjustwAKEUPTHISJUST _WAKEUPJUSTWAK EU_PJUSTWA _K_ E _UP_ WAK _E_ UP _WAKEUPJUSTW_ AKEUP!]** ~~

~~**[why can’t i]** ~~

~~**[i need to, i have to! i can fix this but only if]** ~~

~~**[wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeuppleasewakeup]** ~~

~~**[wake up]** ~~

~~**[just]** ~~

Suddenly, Sans finds himself sitting at a table in a fancy-looking restaurant, staring down into the inky depths of his Tekilla. The soul-shard is quiet, the kid is staring expectantly at him, and the only terrifying, soul-sucking darkness around is in his glass.

That was all in his head.

Trying desperately to process whatever the hell had just happened, he stares out blankly at nothing for a second, mind spinning. When he finally comes back to reality, the human’s expression has gone from eager to concerned: they’re staring at him, hands frozen mid-sign, confusion clear in their eyes. Why are they… oh. Apparently he’s been laughing his head off this whole time. “heh-heh. sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. just zoned out.” Back in character, the skeleton winks. “apparently, i’m so good at napping that i can do it with my eyesockets open. that’s how the saying goes, right?” That earns him a small giggle, at the very least, although they still look befuddled. No longer worried and desperate, though, so hey, at least that’s something. If he keeps pushing forward, acts like what just happened was no big deal, they should brush that whole thing off. “huh. anyhow, yeah, he disappeared, and that’s when things really went to hell.” Blindly, his hands fumble forward, grasping at the glass of Tekilla and downing the rest of it in one gulp. Sure, it’s disgusting, and it makes his eyes water, but hey: that’s why he started on the mustard, and that turned out pretty well for him, didn’t it? Besides, it’s a distraction, and he, uh… he kinda needs one of those right now if he wants to keep his skull on straight. It’ll be fine. It’ll all be **fine**.

Thoughtfully, they nod, seemingly considering his words for a long moment. **Thank you,** the kid signs. Sans snorts at that, because **c’mon**. _this kid, i swear_. **We should probably go now, right?**

Right. Get moving. Don’t think about it. Don’t forget it, of course (although it’s not like he **could** , even if he wanted to), but don’t think about it, either. “yeah,” Sans drawls casually, leaning back in his seat. “i’ve got places to be and people to kill.” There’s at least four places that he can think of where Al could be hiding out, and he’s sure he can think of more on the way there. "do me a favor, sweetheart, and take care of yourself, okay?” A casual wink. “see ya.”

Unfortunately, he doesn’t end up spotting anything out of the ordinary in the True Lab. Shame. Course, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see **anything** : the Amalgamates are still locked up down there safe and sound, and as hungry as ever, too. It takes a **lotta** dodging and shortcuts to get outta there without losing any important limbs in the process: Endogeny sure seems to have it out for him.

_why did the skeleton run up a tree? because a dog was after his bones!_

He strikes gold at the Ruins, though. As soon as he sees the door, he **knows**. Oh, sure, Al tried to hide her tracks—he’ll give her **that** much—but the little things make it **way** too obvious. For one, the kid left the door open, and now it’s closed. Plus, the snow is too fresh, too clean. Snow’s always sludgy and grey around here, and after the kid’s little killing spree, there’s been a solid layer of dust on **everything** , but the snow on the ground is just… snow. No dust, no trash, no sludge. They musta raked it up in order to hide their tracks. “jackpot.”

So he takes a shortcut in.

It takes approximately half a second for him to be pulled into a fight.

“Like, who **are** you?” one of his attackers exclaims, staring at him with wide eyes, her razor-sharp, fuschia-painted claws covering her mouth. Oh, great. He recognizes these two. Food, weapons, alcohol, non-regulation clothes, drugs, as well as a lot of goods and services that are significantly less PG-rated: essentially, if someone wants something, Bratty and Catty either have it or are willing to get it for the right price. “How’d you even get in here? There’s totally a bunch of protection spells and reinforcements on the door and stuff.” Infuriated, the monster flails her arms at the door. “And you didn’t even open it! You just, like, appeared out of nowhere?”

Clearly impatient, the other one rolls her bloodshot eyes, crossing her arms. “Oh my god, Catty,” she scoffs, ravenously eyeing Sans up. If he were anyone else, he guesses he’d probably be feelin’ a little uncomfortable at this point. Unfortunately for them, nothing really spooks him anymore. “It, like, **so** doesn’t matter. Not with the two of us here to keep an eye on the door, right?” Suddenly, she smirks, baring sharp fangs at him from underneath garish blood-red lipstick. “Besides, it’s not like this creep is gonna pose a threat to anyone here. Look at how beat-up he is. Like, no way would any guy who can actually stand a chance in a fight let himself get **that** messed up.” Heh. Welp, isn’t **that** a thought, huh? If only it was true: he sure wishes it was.

The cat monster cackles. “Unless he’s into that!”

“Oh my **god** , Catty.”

Shoulders shaking, she guffaws loudly, shrill laughter echoing through the hallway. After a while, she seems to remember that he’s still standing there and turns back to him, gaze sweeping critically across him. He just stares right back at her, sharp grin widening eerily, gaze even, eyesockets black as tar. “Uh, anyways,” Catty says slowly, seemingly unnerved by his silence. “Like, um… you should totally prepare to die and stuff, you mega-pathetic weirdo.”

Apparently done with chatting for now, they **finally** decide to get to the point and start attacking him already. Heh, ‘bout time, too: he was kinda getting tired of the whole standing around and waiting on them shtick. Of course, he sidesteps everything they throw at him, not that that’s really a **challenge**. Even if he wasn’t such an experienced dodger, he doubts he’d have trouble with these two. Needless to say, they’re not really, uh, hard hitters. Whose bright idea was it to leave these two guarding the door to the Ruins, exactly?

Hell, those two even dare to look shocked that he’s managed to dodge their attacks. “OMG,” the cat monster breathes, paw covering her mouth in surprise as she stares at him with jaundiced eyes. “That’s, like, **wicked** crazy! How’d you even do that?” It’s kinda hard to tell if she’s disgusted or impressed with him, although he’s guessing it’s both. “I totally thought I had you cornered there!”

Suddenly, an idea hits him. Oh, **this’ll** be good: he can already tell. “hah, sorry, but i’m kinda used to being **purr** sued by this point,” he quips, eyesockets smugly closing shut as his smile briefly widens. “this fight ain’t exactly a game of **cat and mouse**. heh, ‘sides, it’s not like being a good dodger is im **paws** ible or anything.”

Eyes narrowing, Bratty frowns, gaze focusing a little **too** closely on him. She’s staring at him like he’s a cut of meat—which, uh, probably isn’t the wisest choice on her part, seeing as he’s a little too **bony** for that. “Hey, wait a second,” she insists, snapping her fingers repeatedly. “I, like, **totally** recognize you now!” Wait, what? Welp, that’s interesting. He’s pretty sure that he hasn’t cut any deals with the two of them that haven’t ended up being reset some time or another. On the other hand, his boss **definitely** has, so, uh, maybe they know him because of Papyrus? Course, odds are that it’s for the same reason that **everyone** half-knows who he is, but still. He’s not taking any chances. “You used to tell terrible jokes like that at Mettaton’s place. Sans, right?”

 Huh. Or maybe it’s none of the above. Well, whaddya know? It’s a small world. “yep, that’s me,” the skeleton affirms casually, carelessly sticking his hands in his pockets. “sans the skeleton. nice to meetcha.” Sans clears his metaphorical throat. “anyway, uh, as **fun** as this’s been, i’m afraid i gotta keep moving. you know how it is. things to see, people to be.” Casually, he winks, letting the magic drain from his good eye. “no hard **feline** s.”

Bones spring up from the floor. Sans watches the dust fall.

_two down._

He takes the next batch of monsters by surprise. Most of them are ripped to shreds by bones in the first few seconds, and his blasters easily manage to take care of the few remaining survivors before they get the chance to pull any funny business. Lucky for him, that’s not all, either: the noise (and by that, he means the fact that he just **can’t** seem to stop **laughing** ) draws in another curious group that gets about the same treatment.

_eleven down._

_thirteen down._

Honestly, it’s pretty hilarious when a monster or two in these little groups recognizes him. They start talking, making all kinds of assumptions, saying that, c’mon, it’s **just** Sans, the **comedian** , the **weakling**. Hey, did you know that his HP’s under one? **Pathetic**. I mean, be real. Sure, he’s a real funny guy, but someone like him isn’t a threat to people like **us**. Now, if his brother was here, I’d get your point, but he’s not, is he? He’s gotta be just another survivor on the run from the human, not an intruder. We just didn’t notice him earlier.

Yeah, uh… needless to say, he takes his sweet time killing **those** monsters.

_sixteen down._

Sirens are going off. They’ve figured out he’s here. Not that it’ll matter, of course: everyone in the Ruins is, uh, pretty **boned** at this point.

_twenty._

Looks like the best fighters in this joint have decided to band together, to make a stand against him in order to protect themselves and the others. Heh, how **noble**. Unfortunately for them, it doesn’t exactly, well, **work**.

_twenty-six._

_twenty-seven._

_twenty-nine._

He’s stopped seeing anyone that can fight worth a damn. Now, all he sees are the children and the cowards.

_thirty-one._

They’ve started hiding from him. Barricading themselves into rooms, or curling up into balls in dark corners, or resetting puzzles in order to try and trip him up. Well, he’ll give them partial credit: it’s a nice attempt. E for effort. Unfortunately for **them** , this isn’t exactly his first rodeo. The blasters make short work of any blockade, he knows all the nooks and crannies of this place, and his knack for finding shortcuts make puzzles pretty ineffective against him, so, uh… needless to say, this whole shebang isn’t exactly going their way.

_thirty-two._

_thirty-four._

_thirty-five._

_thirty-seven._

_thirty-eight._

Welp, looks like this is it. He’s finally reached the beginning of the Ruins. There’s a patch of yellow flowers here, illuminated by what he’s guessing is sunlight. That’s not exactly what he’s looking for, though.

**_one left._ **

And, sure enough, there she is: standing in the middle of the flowers, lab coat crumpled and dusty, glaring daggers at him, a gun tightly clenched in her claws. “heya, al,” the skeleton says. “fancy seein’ you here.” He shifts in place, sharp-edged grin threatening to slice his skull into ribbons. “hey, uh… no offense, but I just **gotta** ask. what’s the **royal scientist** doing in a **ruined** ol’ place like this?”

Instantly, Alphys’s face scrunches up in disgust. “S—Sans,” she hisses threateningly, aiming the gun square in the middle of his skull. Smile never faltering, he quirks a brow-bone at her, unintimidated. “Why are you helping the human?” The gun trembles violently in her grasp. Who does she think she’s fooling? “What, do you th—think they’ll s— **spare** you if you help them, or something? Because if –if that’s it, then you’re an idiot as w—well as a coward and a traitor.”

Unperturbed by the insults, Sans tilts his head. “heh. look who’s talking." Putting his hands in his pockets, he calmly watches her. “i mean, c’mon. let’s go ahead and go through that little list of yours for a sec and see how many of those things apply to you. **traitor**? yep. and i’d consider locking yourself up in your lab and hiding from what you’ve done to all of us a pretty, uh, **cowardly** thing ta’ do. as for the idiot thing? well, y’know, letting that dt leak happen in the first place was a pretty dumb move. definitely not the **smartest** thing you’ve ever done. speaking of which…” Smirking, he lets magic spark to life in his left eyesocket. “i got a **bone** to pick with you about that.”

The battle begins. Before she gets the chance to try and fire that little ray-gun of hers at him, the skeleton is **moving** , using blue magic to grab ahold of her soul and yank her up, suspending her helplessly in midair. If her expression is anything to go by, she wasn’t exactly expecting that to happen: her stubby little legs are wiggling, struggling fruitlessly against his magic’s hold. “What are y—you do—doing?” Alphys demands furiously, impetuous annoyance thick in her voice. Heh, there’s no foolin’ him, though: he sees the anxiety she’s hiding behind that little act of hers. Welp, whaddya know? Looks like another person that’s smart enough to be afraid of him. “Put m—me down. N—n—now!”

“sorry, al. no can do.” Smirking vindictively, he raises his hand, propelling her higher and higher into the air. “anyways, as I was saying. d’you know that all of this is basically your fault?” Eyes going dark, the skeleton chuckles, watching her closely. “that expression… you need an explanation, huh? welp, that’s fine by me. lemme break it down for you real quick.” Grin going feral, he raises his other hand and summons his soul. “if not for **you** , i wouldn’t even **be** here.” Alphys stares down at the pale, disfigured lump of magic he’s holding. It’s mutilated, and all kinds of cracked, and leaking a bright crimson, and that’s not even **mentioning** the shrapnel stuck in it that she can’t see. “see that? point-one-five hp. i should be **dead** right now.” The look on her face… this is freakin’ **hilarious**. “and if not for me, kid numero uno woulda had **no** problem redeeming monsters and living happily on the surface with ‘em. hell, i don’t think kid two woulda even gotten their body back, and **they’re** the ones killing everybody here. get the picture?” His smile widens. “if not for **you** , everyone’d be happy and free and, y’know, alive. everything would be all sunshine and rainbows. and, y’know, from my end of things, all this would finally be over. everybody wins. but nope, i’m stuck here. because of you. thanks.”

“I—I don’t understand,” she mumbles, staring guiltily at his soul for a second longer before glancing away. “You’re n—not making any sense.” Alphys’s voice twists, turning angry and desperate and threatening. “Why are you here? How do I **know** you? What do you w—w— **want** from me?”

From **her**? Heh-heh, well, isn’t **that** presumptuous? “eh, nothing, really,” Sans shrugs. “i mean, sure, it’d be pretty nice if you hadn’t gone and changed your tune on the whole kill-or-be-killed thing as soon as the old man disappeared.” Clearly questioning his sanity (which might be kinda fair at this point, **tibia** honest), she stares blankly down at him, no recognition in her eyes. What a shame. “but, y’know, it’s a little late for that. so, uh, i really only got one thing to say to you at this point.”

She swallows. “A—and that is?”

“g e t d u n k e d o n.”

Smoothly, his hand swishes downwards, flinging Alphys down. She screeches for a long second—right up until the point that her throat makes contact with a conjured bone.

Huh. Another LV already? Welp, that didn’t take long. Absentmindedly, Sans stoops down, groping blindly around in the pile of grainy dust and tattered clothing until he finds what he’s looking for. “heh-heh.” Grinning emptily, he tucks the scratched pair of glasses under his hoodie into the collar of the torn-up, button-down dress shirt he’s wearing under his hoodie. “see ya next run, al.”

__

“gotta say, kid, i’m really proud of ya,” Sans says. Looking confused yet cautiously optimistic, the kid blinks at him. “you’re a lot smarter than that other human, that’s for sure. after all, not once did you let yourself get tricked into thinking that any of these people deserved mercy. you gained LOVE without letting yourself gain love.” A wink. “good job. hey, outta curiosity, did anyone ever tell you what lv and exp stand for?” Face blank, the human shakes their head, accidentally mussing up their feathery hair in the process. “well, i guess you should probably know that by now. no worries, though: i’ll clue you in.” Closing his eyes, he leans back against a pillar. “exp’s an acronym. it stands for **execution points**.” Their eyes widen. What were they expecting? “essentially, it’s a way of quantifying the pain you’ve inflicted on others. when you kill someone, your LOVE increases. that’s an acronym, too. stands for **level of violence.** ” Ah, how to explain LV? “it, uh, measures your capacity to hurt others. the more you kill, the easier it is to distance yourself from it and bring yourself to hurt others. more likely you’ll start enjoying it, too. make sense?”

For some reason, they don’t seem happy. **I don’t** want **to hurt people,** the human stubbornly insists, frowning at him. Why are they lying to him? C’mon, he’s **seen** them fight. If they really didn’t want to hurt anyone, if they didn’t hate monsters, there’s **no** way they’d be dealing **that** much damage. **I’m not doing this for fun. I’m doing this to save humanity.**

Welp, whatever helps them sleep at night. “sure, kid,” the skeleton calmly allows, shrugging helplessly. “whatever you say.” At this point, he can’t really bring himself to care what excuses they’re telling themselves. “now. this is the last step. if asgore is left to continue, he **will** destroy humanity. so, uh, if you wanna keep that from happening, well… you know what to do.” A grin. “i’m counting on you, kid. good luck.”

Solemnly, Frisk nods. **Don’t worry,** they promise, fists clenching, staring intensely at him. **I’ll stop him.**

“good.” Slouching against a pillar, Sans watches as the human starts heading towards the end of the corridor. “oh, and kid?” he abruptly calls after them, cupping his hands to his mouth. Brow furrowed, they turn back, confusion clear on their face. “one last thing. can ya do me a favor?” The kid nods, lips pressing into a thin line. “m a k e h i m **s u f f e r**.”

__

**Damn** it, Petals.

Sans’d even had a **plan**. It’d been a good one, too: the kid was gonna kill Asgore and take his soul, then use it to get through the barrier. Once they’d escaped, Sans would release the six human souls (just in case there were any survivors hanging around who’d try to use them to get through the barrier and end up giving the human a nasty surprise), then go ahead and end this for good. But nope: apparently that’s just too **simple** where the weed’s involved.

Well, whatever. It’s dead now. Still, it’s left him in kind of a pickle. “you know what has to happen, kiddo.”

Furiously, they shake their head, dark hair flying everywhere. **You’re going to come with me,** Frisk contends, glowering at him. They look angry: desperate, even. **We’re going to go up to the surface together.** The human’s hands sweep violently through the air. **Everything will be** fine **.**

“you know i can’t,” the skeleton softly says. “you gotta kill me and use my soul to get through the barrier. s’the only way.”

Instantly, the kid’s face crumples. **No,** they sign rapidly, panic clear in their eyes, **no no no no, I can’t, I won’t** hurt **you! I can’t. Please don’t make me, pleasepleaseplease, no!**

Taken aback by the intensity of their refusal, he blinks slowly. “whoa,” he says. “hey, now.” His hands flutter helplessly in midair, uncertain of what to do. “listen, kid, i’m… i’m okay with this. you know that, right? i—i want this.”

For a second, the skeleton **feels** something. Some might call it compassion; others might even go so far as to call it sympathy, or maybe even **attachment** to the little kid crying their eyes out in front of him. Admittedly, it’s, uh… kind of a shock. After all, despite the act, he hasn’t really **cared** about anyone in **years**.

But it doesn’t matter. It’s too little, too late. They’re both too far gone. Stick to the plan. “c’mon, bucko. j—just don’t cry, alright? cause…” He swallows. “cause someone really cares about you, sweetheart.” Eyes puffy, Frisk stares helplessly up at him. They hesitate for a moment, lower lip quivering, then lunge forward and hug him tightly around the middle. “pfft. c’mon, kid.” Weakly, he chuckles ruefully, shaking his head. “what, you tryin’ to crush me to death here or something?”

A soft, silvery voice whispers to him, trembling uncontrollably. “I’m sorry.”

~~**_ksccch_ ** ~~

~~**_thud_ ** ~~

Suddenly, he’s stumbling away from them, eyesockets wide, grin strained, vision blurry. Pupils shrinking to pinpricks, Sans thoughtlessly brushes a hand against his ribcage—wet—then touches the thick, muddy determination dripping from his mouth. “heh.” **Finally**. “so, guess that’s it, huh?” He chuckles, no humor in his voice. “welp. suppose my work here is done, then. i’m gonna go ahead and clock out for today if ya don’t mind, old man. i’m goin’ to grillby’s.”

And then he sees him.

Unable to believe his eyes, the skeleton stares up at him in disbelief; incredulous laughter (and it’s genuine, for the first time in years and years and years) bubbles up in his throat. He can’t believe it, can’t dare to believe this is really real, but he **has** to, because here he is, standing there, smiling kindly down at him, arms open for a hug, understanding and compassion and love and forgiveness shining in his eyes. “papyrus,” Sans mumbles softly, gentle wonder in his voice. “i missed you, bro.”

Before he knows it, he’s collapsing, falling into his brother’s waiting arms.

But it’s too late. Papyrus is gone again, leaving nothing but the memory of a warm smile and a gaping hole in the world where his kindness used to be.

And then, suddenly, Sans isn’t there anymore, either.

__

Sans wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment to let me know what you thought!
> 
>  
> 
> The second part of Another Ending should be out tomorrow. I've also been working on another fic covering the whole Alphys/Undyne end of things. That probably won't be out within the next couple of days, but sometime in the future, look forward to seeing Defect being added to this series. Maybe something covering Papyrus's thoughts, too—or my two personal favorites, the True End (aka the one where Flowey's sick of everyone's shit) or Reset (where time travel saves the day). Lemme know which idea sounds best to you!
> 
> Throughout all of this, I tried making it clear that this universe isn't completely separate from the canon Undertale universe: I'm viewing it as a different way things could have progressed, instead of an entirely different universe. The Sans you see here isn't an entirely different person than UT!Sans. His life started out in the same place, after all: it just took a few different turns.  
> And I know what you're all thinking. "Hey, wait, what about Papyrus? This doesn't seem anything like the Cool Dude we know and love!"  
> Well, here's the thing. Throughout all of this, Sans sees Papyrus as two different, distinct people: his boss and his brother. In reality, though, that overenthusiastic kid and the Royal Guardsman aren't two different people. The persona of the Royal Guardsman—of "Boss"—is just a mask Papyrus learned to wear after the prince died. Without it, the Underground would rip him to tiny smiling shreds—and, more importantly to Papyrus, he wouldn't be liked! After all, we all know how much he values popularity, don't we? Of course, eventually, the mask became the real deal, but deep, deep down, there's always been a tiny sliver of the old Papryus left—and by the time that the real Papyrus is saved, his brother no longer believes in him, and there's nothing he can do to fix that.  
> Of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't try. The Great Papyrus is very persistent! It also stabs the Great Papyrus in the heart (or, y'know, whatever the skeletal equivalent of a heart is) every time his brother inevitably rejects him.
> 
> So... essentially, this is a morality swap that still manages to maintain the personalities of the original characters?


End file.
